


In the Arcade

by nikkithedead



Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: Anonymous Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Dom Stiles, Light BDSM, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Rimming, Sub Jackson Whittemore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 17:18:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 32,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3496463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikkithedead/pseuds/nikkithedead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an accidental hook-up, Stiles and Jackson enter into a no-strings-attatched sexual relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blue-Eyed Monster

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katarama](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/gifts).



> Takes place after the events of season two, and is more or less season two canon compliant. The only differences are that Erica and Boyd were never captured by the Alpha pack, and there was no triskele on Derek's door. The Alpha pack, Jennifer and any other elements introduced in season 3 do not exist in this universe.
> 
> Obviously, Jackson did not go to London, either.

“Alice asked the Cheshire Cat, who was sitting in a tree,  
'What road do I take?'   
The cat asked, 'Where do you want to go?'  
 'I don’t know,' Alice answered. 'Then,' said the cat, 'it really doesn’t matter, does it?'”   
—Lewis Carroll, Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland  

***

It was called the Arcade, but no one who went there had much interest in playing video games. Not even Stiles, who would have put playing video games on his list of top ten things he was interested in doing. But the other thing was higher on the list. Lately he thought it might have even been number one. 

Stiles had only found the Arcade pretty recently. Before that he'd gone to this place in the park that wasn't nearly so nice—mostly because it was a washroom. But even by dirty, scuzzy washroom standards, the one in the park was just nasty. You couldn't even see who the hell you were fooling around with. It was too impersonal for him, just sticking his dick through a dirty hole in the wall and letting some stranger suck him off. He wasn't exactly there looking for romance or anything, but it would have been nice to be able to at least see what these guys looked like.

Compared to the washroom in the park, the Arcade was the Ritz. No gross glory holes to speak of. 

As far as Stiles knew, the Arcade had been opened for year and years. It was the kind of place Stiles' Dad had probably gone to, when he was a kid—solely for the purpose of video games, of course. It used to have some other kind of name too, but whatever it'd been was long lost, nothing more than a faded, impossible to decipher word on a sign that now just read “The [blank] Arcade.” The games were old, years outdated. The lighting was bad, the wiring faulty, and the guy behind the counter where you could exchange money for tokens (although the machines also took quarters) was without a doubt high as a fucking kite every time Stiles went in there.

But none of that mattered. Because what the Arcade lacked in style and allure, it made up for with its labyrinthine expanse of small, dark back rooms. That was the way the place was set up—where most arcades had one big room full of games, the Arcade had about two or three games in the entrance way, and the rest were located in those back rooms. Each room had at least one old style arcade game set up in it. 

So if you were looking for a discreet, out of the way place to hook up with strangers in, it was perfect. 

And that was exactly what Stiles was looking for.

***

 It was the day after the first day of eleventh grade, and Stiles was headed for the Arcade, as usual. He would have gone the day before (he'd sure as hell needed it) but lacrosse tryouts had occupied his time. He'd actually managed to make first string this year, for the first time ever. It felt good... but not as good as Stiles would have thought. It strange, how things that had once seemed so important hardly mattered anymore. When there were things like werewolves, kanima's and God-Knows-What-Else running around tearing people's throats out, what did a dumb sport like lacrosse count for?

Sure, the summer had been quiet, pleasantly death, mutilation and horror free. But Stiles knew it couldn't last forever. Sooner or later something else would come, and when it did they would never be ready for it. How could they? 

Stiles knew that Scott had spent the summer training with Derek and his pack—although he had still refused to join them, in an official capacity. They were learning to fight, to strengthen themselves and work together more efficiently. Stiles himself, along with Lydia and Allison, had spent the summer pouring over every resource they could get their hands on—the Argent and the Hale's bestiaries, books that Derek had leant them and an entire database full information given to them by Deaton, (which he only handed over after making it clear that he would in fact kill them if they ever told anyone that he had).

And still he knew it would not be enough. It wasn't that he didn't think they would be able to stop whatever came—they would, he was pretty sure. Eventually. In the end, they would find some way to triumph over whatever terror plagued their town next... but how many would die before they did? And how long would it be before it was one of them lying on a cold slab in the morgue, them and not a stranger? Allison had already lost her mother... which one of their loved ones would be next? 

This was what kept Stiles awake in the night, every night. They would fight, and they would train and they would struggle... and in spite of it all, people would die. There was no way to stop it.

He wished he had someone to share these worries with, some way to let out all the frustration and fear. He couldn't talk to Scott, because if Scott knew how awful Stiles felt all the time he would worry and fret over him, and Scott had enough on his plate already without Stiles' whiney bullshit to stress him out. No, unloading on Scott wasn't fair. And other than Scott, who did he have, really? Allison? She was his friend, of course, and a good one... but somehow he just didn't feel comfortable taking this sort of thing to her. And like Scott, she had enough to deal with.

So he kept it to himself, and tried his best to grin and bare it. He was miserable, and he was alone, and he would just have to deal with it.

When he reached the Arcade, Stiles had put himself in an crappy mood. He almost felt like turning around to go home and sulk, but decided against it. What did he come here for, if not to distract himself from awful thoughts and perpetual crappy moods? No, this was what he needed. Something nice, something simple and easy. Something to take his mind off everything that was not. 

The front section of the arcade was empty as always, and the guy behind the counter didn't bother looking up from his cellphone when Stiles walked in. He headed straight to the back area, and began looking around for an open door.

At the end of the hallway a door stood ajar, and Stiles headed towards it. He stepped in slowly, frowning. The room was completely dark inside, and it was impossible to see. Someone had killed the lights, and unplugged the arcade machine. He was considering calling out to see if whoever had done so was still there, when the door slammed shut behind him. Instinct took over and when he felt a hand on him, he shoved the person away. They shoved him back and slammed him up against a wall, pining him back against it. Then they kissed them, a hard kiss that collided with only half his mouth. Stiles figured that was probably due to them not being able to see, either.

The kiss calmed him down, reminded him that wasn't being attacked. It was dark because whoever he was kissing wanted to stay as anonymous as possible. And today, Stiles didn't care. The stranger managed to plant a more centred kiss on him, and this time Stiles kissed him back. 

In the pitch black their hands roamed over each others bodies, pulling at clothes as they stumbled back against each other. Usually in this sort of situations, Stiles couldn't stop himself from wondering about the person he was with; who were they, what were they like? What was their favourite movie, their favourite band? Did they prefer pizza or hamburgers?

Today none of this questions floated through his mind, and if the guy had volunteered the answers Stiles wouldn't have cared. All he wanted was to get off, and go home. Nothing else mattered, not who this guy was or even what he looked like.

Stiles felt around for the guys shoulder, and gave a firm push downwards. Quick on the uptake, he immediately sunk down to his knees and began fiddling with the button of Stiles' jeans.

Stiles leaned back against the wall as the stranger went down on him, closing his eyes and threading his fingers through the guys hair, which was stiff with gel. Stiles moaned quietly. He had been waiting all day for this. This was good.

It wasn't long before Stiles was finished, but even after he had come he kept his eyes closed, revelling in the feeling of release and peace. For just a few moments he had no worries, no problems and no need to struggle. For just a moment, everything was okay.

The strangers hands were back on him soon, although he made no move to kiss Stiles again. Stiles reached out in the darkness, found his face and pulled it towards him, pressing their lips together. They kissed slowly for a minute, and then Stiles felt a hand on his shoulder, pressing down. It was his turn.

Stiles dropped to his knees, feeling around for the button of the guys jeans. He found a well muscled abdomen and ran his hand down until he came to the groin area, then got to work. Going down on someone wasn't as good as having someone go down on him—especially this guy, who had a real knack for it—but he didn't exactly mind it, either. Already he could feel himself getting hard again, just listening to this guy moan, and feeling him thrust his fingers into his recently grown-out hair.

Why he did it, Stiles didn't know. The room was pitch black, there was nothing to see... and yet for some reason, Stiles looked up. And through the darkness, two blue eyes stared down at him. Bright blue and glowing in the dark. And Stiles only knew one person with eyes like that.

Stiles stumbled backwards, wiping his mouth as he staggered to his feet. He fumbled for the light switch, found it and flipped it on. 

Jackson Whittemore was pulling up his pants. When the lights flicked on and he saw Stiles standing there, his jaw dropped. They stared at each other for a moment, mouths open and nothing coming out. Stiles' mind had gone completely blank, as if the situation was somehow too impossible to contemplate.

Suddenly Jackson stormed past him and out the door, leaving Stiles staring after him, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now.


	2. Fool Me Twice...

"My shame circuits burned out from overuse years ago."  
―David Wong, This Book Is Full of Spiders  
  
***

Stiles didn't see Jackson again until the next day, when he shoved him up against a wall after lacrosse practice. Everyone else had already gone, including Scott who'd rushed off to work saying that he would call Stiles later. Stiles had purposefully lagged behind, wanting to talk to Jackson. Had he anticipated the wall-shoving, he probably would have asked Scott to stay.

"Did you tell anyone?" Jackson demanded, grabbing fistfuls of Stiles' shirt and shaking him.

"Well, Jackson, that depends on what exactly you're talking about—" Jackson shook him again, and Stiles rolled his eyes. "No, I didn't tell anyone. Why the hell would I?"

"Revenge? To humiliate me? Because you've got a big fucking mouth?" Jackson ground his teeth, glaring at Stiles. "You're sure you didn't tell anyone? Not even McCall?"

"Jackson, trust me, if what happened between us got out, I would be just as horrified as you," Stiles assured him.

Jackson snorted, and let go of his shirt. "Yeah, I really doubt that, Stilinski," He muttered.

Stiles raised his eyebrows, stepping forward. "You think so? Believe me, I don't have any interest in people knowing I gave half a blow job to a zombie—"

In a flash, Stiles was once again shoved back against the wall with Jackson breathing down his neck. "Shut your fucking mouth," Jackson spat out.

Stiles licked his lips, and grinned. "You know that's what people call you now, right?" He raised his eyebrows once more. "'Zombie boy,'"

Jackson pulled a fist back and Stiles braced himself, but the punch never came. He could see Jackson's jaw was tensed and he seemed to be struggling with what to do. After a moment, he dropped his fist and backed up.

Jackson ran his fingers through his hair and Stiles looked him over, wondering what the hell was going on. "Jackson, not that I'm not glad you didn't punch me but... what gives?"

"If I punch you I could break your face," Jackson muttered. "Probably get in trouble for that..." He looked up sharply, and Stiles saw his eyes were the same blazing blue they'd been the day before. "Don't think I don't want to,"

Stiles nodded. "Interesting... I'm kind of wondering, who are you worried about getting in trouble with?" He asked. "The police... or Derek?"

Jackson glared at him, and Stiles could not help smirking.

Jackson stormed forward again, and Stiles backed up, pressing himself back against the wall. "Come on, Jackson, we already know you won't hit me," He taunted. There was a voice in his head telling him he should really stop talking, lest Jackson lose his temper and break a lot more than his face. But how often had he ever listened to that voice, really? "What else aren't you allowed to do?"

"Shut up, Stiles," Jackson was once again so close to him that he could feel his breath hot on his face. Stiles' heart had begun to race in his chest, and he couldn't seem to make himself stop talking.

"What? I'm just curious. How short is that leash Derek's got you on, exactly?"

"I said shut up!"

Stiles tilted his head back and grinned. "Make me," He said.

For a moment, Stiles thought that Jackson really was going to hit him. There was fury in his blue eyes, and Stiles got the sense that his resolve was breaking.

But Jackson did not hit him.

Instead, he shoved his mouth against Stiles' in a ruthless kiss. And though Stiles was shocked and a little confused, that did not stop him from kissing Jackson back.

It was not a gentle kiss. Their mouths were smashing together, and their noses kept bumping and it would have hurt like hell if it hadn't felt so damn good. Stiles' hands roamed over Jackson's body, sliding up under his shirt and along the smooth expanse of his back. Each kiss was harder, more furious than the last but Stiles never wanted to stop.

He grabbed Jackson by his shirt and turned them around so that it was Jackson pressed back against the wall now. He cried out as Stiles kissed down his neck, sucking angry red marks that healed instantly into his skin. Jackson's fingers were in his hair again, and it felt just as good as it had the day before. All of it did.

"Stiles, we... we should stop," Jackson mumbled. Stiles lifted his head and sucked the lobe of Jackson's ear into his mouth. "Ahh... mmm, we, really... we should stop... someone could... someone..."

Dimly, the words stop registered in Stiles' mind, and with great difficulty he pulled himself back. He realized he had been pining Jackson against the wall by his shoulders, but he wasn't quite willing to let go yet.

"What? What's wrong?" Jackson asked, obviously irritated.

Stiles furrowed his brow. "What do you mean? You said stop. I stopped,"

"I said we should stop," Jackson snapped. "Not that I wanted to," They glared at each other for a moment, before the reality of the situation seemed to come back and both realized what they had done. Again.

Stiles dropped his hands from Jackson's shoulders, and Jackson put his face in his hands. "Fuck," He muttered.

Stiles turned away, suddenly needing to be anywhere but around Jackson. He needed to clear his head, needed to get a grip on himself. "I gotta go," He said.

Without waiting for a response, he turned away and all but ran out of the change room. He marched quickly down the hallway, not looking where was going. Suddenly something smacked into him, and he stumbled backwards.

"What the hell, Stiles?" It was Erica he had bumped into, and she put her hands on her hips, looking him over.

"Sorry," Stiles muttered, shaking his head. "I wasn't looking..." Erica gave him a funny look, but Stiles didn't care.

He continued down the hallway and was out of the school and at his car in two minutes. Stiles drove home as fast as could without speeding, and collapsed on his bed.

What the hell had happened? One moment they'd been arguing, and the next... why? Why any of it? This was Jackson Whittemore they were talking about. For as long as he could remember, Jackson had been nothing but a bully to him and Scott. All Stiles was supposed to feel towards him was disdain, mixed with some lasting resentment over his relationship with Lydia (even though Jackson was no longer with her, and Stiles was no longer obsessed with her, old habits die hard).

Instead of feeling those normal, expected feelings, Stiles was feeling... well, other things. Things that made him wish their kiss in the locker room had lasted a hell of a lot longer than it had. Things that kept him wondering when he would be able to kiss him like that again. And sure, there was anger and resentment mixed in there, but definitely a lot of desire too. For some God-unknown reason, he wanted Jackson. And he wanted him a lot.

Maybe it wasn't all that crazy. Jackson was a lot of things, but unattractive was not one of them. And he was more than proficient in the art of giving head, that Stiles could say for certain. Unlike most of the men Stiles hooked up with in the Arcade, Jackson was his age and Stiles knew he would take this secret to his grave. What was the downside, really? Other than his personality.

But no, it could never work, it was a stupid thought. Why would he want it to work, really? He shouldn't. And, he promised himself, he wouldn't.

***

Jackson sat on a bench in the locker room, mentally berating himself for making out with Stilinski again. The first time he could excuse, he hadn't known, hadn't realized... but this time he had nothing to hide behind. What the hell was wrong with him? Why was he like this?

He needed to get a grip.

Footsteps sounded from out in the hallway, and Jackson prayed they would pass the locker room. Of course they stopped right outside the door, and the person who belonged to them knocked.

"Jackson, you in there?" Erica. What the hell did she want? "Are you naked? I'm coming in, and if you're naked I'll beat the crap out of you, alright?"

Jackson groaned, and Erica opened the door, her hand lifted to cover her eyes in case of his nudity.

He sighed. "I'm not naked, Erica," He muttered.

She let her hand drop. "Good," She said, letting the door swing shut behind her. She leaned back against a locker and crossed her arms. "So, I ran into Stilinski out in the hall way," She began. The hair on the back of Jackson's neck stood up. "You want to explain that?"

Jackson shrugged, trying to appear casual. "It's a school, he goes here...?"

Erica rolled her eyes. "Yeah, that's true. Doesn't really explain why your scent was all over him," She said, raising an eyebrow.

Jackson's face turned red, and he felt his heart beat pick up in his chest. A million thoughts raced through his mind, each one trying to find some way to deny what had obviously occurred. "I don't have to explain myself to you," He snapped, standing up and trying to barge past her. She caught him by the arm and dragged him back, and he turned and glared at her. "Did you ever think maybe my scent was on because I beat the crap out of him?"

Erica snorted. "Jackson, you're a werewolf. If you'd beat the crap out of him, he'd have at least had a limp,"

Unable to think of any other response, Jackson shoved her. Erica stumbled backwards, reached out and caught a locker to stop herself from falling. Jackson pointed a finger in her face. "You better not tell anyone,"

Erica gritted her teeth, and her eyes flashed yellow. Fast as a whip she was back on him, kicking him in the knee and sending him crashing to the floor. "Well since you asked so nicely," She snapped.

Jackson stood up slowly, considered lunging for her but decided against it. He'd gone up against Erica before in training, and although he was improving he knew she could still kick his ass.

Erica shook her head. "Come on, we're late for training. Derek will be pissed,"

Jackson glared at her. "Bite me,"

Erica rolled her eyes. "Whatever," She muttered, turning around and walking out. Jackson continued to glower at the door, trying to get a hold of himself and the situation. Erica knew. What could he do about that? Could he bribe her into keeping the secret? Perhaps... but there was nothing he could do to erase the information from her mind, make it so that his secret was truly safe again.

This was not good... but there was something even worse, something even more terrible than Erica finding out his secret. Jackson wouldn't have thought that was possible, but there it was. The truly awful, terrible thing was that even though Erica knowing filled him with an unspeakable dread and anxiety, Jackson could still not stop thinking about fucking Stiles. The way he had felt when Stiles had kissed him, the feeling of his lips on his neck and his hands running along his body... Jackson could not get it out of his head, could not stop replaying every second of it and wanting more.

That was the worst part of it all.

***

Late at night, Stiles woke with a jolt to a tapping sound at his window. The tapping sound had invaded his dreams as well, and he was angry at it for waking him because it had been a good dream. He'd been in the Arcade, getting a blowjob from some guy when Jackson had stormed in and pulled the guy off of him. "Stiles is mine," Jackson had said, chasing the guy off before pulling Stiles towards him and kissing him hard and quick. They'd been in the process of shedding their clothes when the tapping had started, and as much as he'd tried to ignore it eventually the dream had slipped away, leaving him alone in his bed.

Tap tap tap.

Stiles groaned and rubbed his eyes, then opened them and sat up, looking for the source of the tapping. Much to his surprise he found Jackson sitting outside of his window, tapping his finger against the glass. For a moment, Stiles wondered if he was still asleep.

A little concerned that Jackson was here because he'd changed his mind about punching him in the face, Stiles went over to his window and opened it up. "Jesus Christ, Stiles, took you long enough," Jackson grumbled, climbing inside.

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest. "It's late, I was asleep," He muttered. A glance at the clock told him it was past midnight. "What the hell are you doing here, Jackson?"

"We have a problem," Jackson said, walking into Stiles' room. Stiles suddenly became aware of the amount of clothes—including several pairs of dirty boxers—that were lying on his floor. He began scooping them up as fast as he could, throwing them in a heap into his hamper. "Erica knows,"

"What?" Stiles asked, stoping his cleaning and staring at Jackson. "How?"

"She bumped into you after we... when you left the locker room," Jackson explained. "She could smell me on you,"

Stiles groaned, and sat down on the bed. "Well is she going to say anything?"

"That's the problem, I don't know," Jackson said. "I couldn't get to her to promise not to,"

"Fuck," Stiles muttered. He thought back to bumping into Erica earlier in the day, remembered the way she'd looked at him. "Fuck,"

"Basically, yeah," Jackson agreed.

Stiles groaned, hanging his head. "How did this happen?" He mumbled.

"I told you, she could smell—"

"Not that," Stiles snapped. "This," He gestured between them. "You and me. How the hell did this happen?"

It was dark in the room, but there was enough light coming from the open window for Stiles to tell that Jackson looked uncomfortable. "You were there, weren't you?"

"It's your fault, y'know,"

Jackson's mouth opened. "Excuse me? I don't think I was fooling around with myself, Stilinski.

It takes two to tango,"

"You killed all the lights, that was your bright idea," Stiles paused. "So to speak,"

"You didn't exactly object,"

"Why did you do that, anyways? And can't you see in the dark, with your crazy werewolf senses or whatever?"

Jackson folded his arms and looked away. "Only if I concentrate a lot... and even then, only a little. But since I didn't want to see in the dark, I wasn't trying,"

"Well what about smell? You could still smell me, right? You should have known who I was!"

"I'm not that good at that yet!" Jackson protested. "Alright, fine, I thought you smelled familiar, but I just figured you were someone I'd hooked up with before," He glared. "I don't have your scent memorized,"

"Well, you should,"

"Well I don't so there's no point arguing about it,"

Stiles shook his head. He felt stupid for starting such a pointless argument, stupid for blaming Jackson for something he had obviously been a part of as well. He wished he could just tell Jackson to get lost, get him out of his room and put him out of his thoughts. If only it were that easy.

"What are you doing here, Jackson?"

Jackson looked up, frowning. "What?"

"What are you doing here?" Stiles repeated. "I mean, this stuff about Erica couldn't have waited until tomorrow? It's not like there's anything we can do about it,"

"I didn't want to be seen talking to you at school. My social status has taken a big enough hit as it is, remember?" Jackson replied cooly.

"Okay, you could have texted. Or e-mailed, or called... " Stiles stood up, and walked over to him. "There was no reason to come here in the middle of the night," He raised his eyebrows. Jackson looked away. "Well?"

Jackson was quiet for a moment. He shook his head. "Forget it, fine. I'm leaving," He turned towards the window, but Stiles reached out and put a hand on his arm. Jackson allowed himself to be pulled back, and Stiles put a hand on his face. He looked at Jackson through the darkness and finally came to a decision. If he had to put that decision into words, he supposed it would be something a long the lines of "eh, fuck it,"

He pulled Jackson towards him and kissed him. Maybe it was a mistake, maybe he would wind up regretting it but all of a sudden he couldn't have cared less. He spent so much time worrying and agonizing over what would happen in the future, worrying about consequences and what he would do if the worst should happen... he was sick and tired of it. Tired of caring, of worrying that he wasn't doing the right thing. Maybe the answer was just saying "fuck it all" and doing something he knew was wrong, without caring about the consequences.

And if the worst should happen, at least the only person hurt would be himself.


	3. The First Rule

"At the time, my life just seemed too complete,  
and maybe we have to break everything  
to make something better out of ourselves."  
―Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club

***

After school, Stiles and Jackson met up in the Arcade. After the night before, there was no point in fighting it. For some strange, unfathomable reason they liked fooling around with each other. So what? It was hardly the end of the world.

Or so Stiles told himself.

In one of the many dirty rooms in the back of the Arcade, Stiles and Jackson pulled at each others clothes, unable to be rid of them fast enough. Stiles hated to admit it, but he'd been thinking about this all day. The feel of Jackson's body under his fingers, the taste of his mouth... Stiles had fooled around with his fair share of people in the last few months, and not one of them could compare to Jackson. Not the way he felt or the way he looked as Stiles jerked him off, the whole time watching his red lips tremble and his eyes squeeze shut as Stiles worked him over the edge. Every time he moaned, ragged and drawn out, Stiles thought he could get off just on that noise alone.

When they were finished and they'd both cleaned themselves off, as he was pulling his pants back on Jackson announced that he had an important matter to discuss. Figuring this sounded as if it would take a while, and since it was kind of cold in the room, Stiles followed Jackson's example and put his pants back on as well, although he didn't bother to zip them up.

Jackson took a seat on the floor and leaned back against the wall. For some reason, that struck Stiles as odd; he would have imagined Jackson to be prissier than that, too high strung to just casually lean back against the grimy arcade wall. Then again, if Jackson was okay with having anonymous sex with random men in this sleazy place, obviously he wasn't as prissy as Stiles had assumed.

As Jackson pulled out a notebook, Stiles dug some change out of his pocket and inserted it into the coin slot of the arcade game that was gathering dust in the corner of their room. The lights flashed, Stiles hit the START button, and a game of Galaga began.

"So," Jackson began, as Stiles moved the joystick back and forth, shooting at clusters of tiny alien spaceships. "We need to set up some rules, if we're going to be doing this,"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Seriously? Rules?"

Jackson glared at him. "Yes, Stiles, rules. Now, rule number one—no one can know about this, understand?"

"Except Erica, you mean," Stiles reminded him. He completed the level, and while the game levelled up he cast a quick glance at Jackson. "Since she already knows,"

Jackson ground his teeth. "Well there's nothing we can do about that," He muttered, writing his rule down in the notebook. Rolling his eyes again, Stiles went back to his game. "Rule number two—no emotions. No feelings, and no attachment. This is purely physical. I'm not your boyfriend, or your friend, or even an acquaintance that you make casual conversation with every now and then,"

"Fine by me," Stiles muttered, repeatedly smashing the SHOOT button and pretending the little aliens were Jackson's head.

"Third rule—no talking about it. I don't want to discuss what we're doing anymore than we have to, okay?"

Stiles snorted. "That should have been the first rule," He said.

"Why?"

" _Fight Club_ ,"

"What about it?"

Stiles blinked a few times, and hit PAUSE on his game. He turned to Jackson. "Have you not seen  _Fight Club_?" He asked.

Jackson shrugged. "So?"

"So... Jesus, Jackson, that's like... I mean, it's not as bad as not having seen  _Star Wars_ , but I mean, it's up there!"

Jackson raised his eyebrows. "I haven't seen thateither," He said.

Stiles gaped at him for a moment, and then put a hand to his head. "Oh, my god... I kissed you," He mumbled. "I kissed you and you haven't seen  _Star Wars_ , or  _Fight Club_... Jackson, get up, I need you to strangle me to  _death._  I can't live with this,"

Jackson stared up at him, obviously not impressed. "So, anyways, rule number four..." Jackson continued, going back to his notebook. Stiles shook his head at him, and then went back to his game. "We ignore each other at school,"

"Don't we already?"

"Not thoroughly enough. I mean no contact at all, not even eye-contact. During lacrosse, don't even pass me the ball. When we're at school, I don't exist to you and you don't exist to me,"

"Okay, but what if you find me in the hallway, and I've been stabbed or something and I'm bleeding out and you're the only one around? Would you stop and help?"

"What are the odds of that happening?"

"At our school? High, actually,"

Jackson thought it over for a moment. "Yes, I would stop and help. But I'd only stay with you until the paramedics showed up and took over, and then I would leave and deny my involvement,"

"Nice. Okay, what's next?"

"We keep this in the Arcade. Last night at your house was an anomaly, I don't want it happening again,"

"Oooh, 'anomaly,' that's a big word, where'd you learn that?"

"Shut the fuck up," Jackson muttered. "Do you understand all the rules, or should I repeat them again slower?"

"Yeah, Jackson, I understand your rules," Stiles muttered. In the game, his spaceship was shot by an alien, and he lost his final life. The words GAME OVER flashed on the screen, and Stiles turned away. "I've got another rule to add," He said, taking a seat next to Jackson on the floor. "No hickeys. I don't want to have to worry about explaining that,"

"What if I just leave them in a place your clothes will cover?"

"How will that help me when I have to shower and change after lacrosse?"

Jackson nodded, and wrote the rule down. Next to it, in brackets he wrote Stiles Only. Stiles raised his eyebrows, and Jackson shrugged. "My hickeys will heal,"

"Fair point," Stiles said, leaning in and pressing his mouth against Jackson's neck. Jackson closed his eyes as Stiles sucked a mark into his skin. He pulled back and watched the mark heal. There was something weirdly satisfying about that. "Actually, I know it breaks rule number three but there is something we should talk about," He said.

Jackson narrowed his eyes. "What's that?"

"You have a list of rules... I think we should make another list," Stiles said. "Of things we like,"

Jackson raised his eyebrows. "Stiles, I really don't think I need a list of your favourite nerd hobbies, okay?" He said. "If you've logged 120 hours on World of Warcraft, or seen the Star Wars 56 times, that's your personal business, no need to share,"

Stiles glared at him. "First of all it's just Star Wars, no 'the.' I just said it like 5 minutes ago Jackson, pay attention. Secondly, I don't mean those sort of likes," He told him. "I meant sexually, the things we like to do, or have done or whatever,"

"Oh," Jackson glanced away. "Can't we just figure that out as we go?"

The fact that Jackson seemed uncomfortable was surprising to Stiles. "Yeah, but it'll be easier to just get it all out there right now, won't it?" He waited, but Jackson didn't agree or disagree. "Come on, if we're going to do this, shouldn't we try and get the most out of it? This is the perfect situation, Jackson,"

Jackson's eyes flicked back over to Stiles, and he frowned. "How so?"

"Because we don't like each other," Stiles explained. Jackson continued to look confused. Stiles sighed. "Jackson, do you give a shit what I think about you?"

Jackson's lip curled. "Of course not,"

"Exactly, and it's the same for me. So if we don't care what the other thinks, there's no room for embarrassment, right? We should just be able to say all the crazy, messed up shit we're into, stuff that we would feel weird about telling someone we actually cared about,"

Jackson raised his eyebrows. "You're into crazy, messed up shit?" He asked. Stiles wondered if he was imagining the hint of curiosity in his voice.

Stiles shrugged. "I mean... yes and no," He said. Jackson definitely looked slightly disappointed. "Look, I haven't had a hell of a lot of real world experience, okay? What I've had has basically been limited to hand jobs and blow jobs. Guys at this place just want to get off and get out, they're not big on 'exploring,'"

Jackson looked at him. "So, you've never had sex?"

Stiles shook his head. "No, I didn't really feel like doing it with some stranger in the back of the Arcade," Blow jobs were one thing, but losing his virginity to someone he didn't know would be another.

Jackson nodded. "Me neither..."

"Oh, so you've never done it either than?" He asked. "I mean, with a guy,"

Jackson's cheek turned slightly pink and he looked away again. "I never said that," He muttered.

Stiles' brow knit together. "What—then who'd you do it with? If it wasn't a stranger..." He frowned. "Danny?"

Jackson's head turned towards him so sharply Stiles was surprised he didn't hear something crack. "No," He snapped. "God, I mean—Danny is practically my brother!"

"Aw, that's sweet,"

"Shut the fuck up,"

"So who then? Do I know them?" Stiles asked, strangely curious.

Jackson put his face in his hands. "What I wouldn't give for a drink right now," He said, his words slightly muffled by his hands. He lifted his head back up, looking forlorn. "This all would've been so much easier to handle if I was plastered,"

"Well you should've thought of that before, and brought something with you," Stiles scoffed.

Jackson groaned. "No, that wouldn't—I can't drink anymore," He said. "I mean I can't get drunk, so drinking doesn't really have a point anymore,"

Stiles furrowed his brow. "You can't get drunk?" He asked. "Huh, I never really thought about that..."

"Yeah, me neither," Jackson mumbled. "When McCall was going on about why this whole werewolf deal sucks, he left that one out,"

"I guess having a healing factor, your body just metabolizes the alcohol too quickly, right?" He continued. Jackson shrugged. "Weird, that never seems to be a problem for Wolverine,"

Jackson groaned again, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Oh god... what I wouldn't give..." Jackson repeated.

Stiles raised his eyebrows and looked Jackson over. "Y'know, I'm sort of getting the idea that you owe Derek Hale a big thank you ,"

Jackson looked up at him. "What? For what?"

"For saving you from a life time of alcoholism," Stiles replied.

Jackson glared at him, his jaw tight. "So that list you mentioned," Jackson said, obviously deciding that they were done talking about this. "What's yours?"

Stiles shook his head, although he did agree that they should probably get back on topic. "My list... well, I like blow-jobs—getting them and giving them," He began. "Obviously my only experience with this is myself, but I like getting fingered—I think getting fingered while getting a blow-job would probably be a  _top-notch_  experience," He made an 'A-OKAY' symbol with his fingers, and Jackson rolled his eyes. "I think I'd like begging,"

"Me begging you or you begging me?" Jackson asked.

"You begging me,"

Jackson nodded. "Right,"

"Only if you're comfortable with that," Stiles added quickly. "Should we have a list of things we don't like, too?"

"What don't you like?"

Stiles shrugged. "I don't know yet," He said. "I'll let you know as I figure it out. But if you have anything—"

"Yeah, I'll tell you..."

Stiles nodded, and waited for Jackson go. When he didn't, he nudged him slightly with his shoulder. "Your turn, Whittemore,"

Jackson sighed, and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's not that easy..."

"I just did it,"

"Please! 'I like blow-jobs and getting fingered?' That's so—that's so simple! What happened to 'crazy and messed up?!'"

"I also watch a lot of hentai," Stiles said defensively. "And that can get  _pretty_ messed up, so..."

"You watch what?"

"Hentai," Stiles said. "It's porn but... anime," He said. Jackson stared at him like he was insane. "Just give me your list, alright?"

Jackson stared at the floor. "Fine..." He muttered. Stiles saw his face was turning red again. "I like... being told what to do," He said slowly. He glanced at Stiles and then quickly turned his eyes back to the floor, as if checking Stiles' reaction. "I like being forced... and treated kind of rough... I like being spoken to harshly, and I guess kind of... verbally abused..." Jackson rubbed his hands together, and snuck another look back up at Stiles. "Pain is good... not a lot of pain, but a little, biting and nails scratching..." He shrugged.

"Oh," Stiles said, feeling surprised. None of this was what he expected. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, it's stupid but..." Eyes back to the floor again. "Afterwards, I like to be... praised," He said quietly.

"That's not stupid," Stiles said. "I didn't mention it, but I think I'd like to y'know, spoon or cuddle afterwards..."

Jackson nodded stiffly. "That would be good..." He paused. "Would you be okay, with doing that sort of thing?"

"Yeah," Stiles said quickly. "I mean... yeah,"

Jackson lifted his eyes, and they stared at each other for a moment. Stiles thought he understood why Jackson had been so reluctant to tell him all of that. Jackson was the kind of guy who prided himself on being in control, on being the alpha male (so to speak). To admit to Stiles that he wanted to be pushed around and forced to submit couldn't have been easy.

Stiles licked his lips. "Kiss me," He said. It sounded more like a request than a demand. He would have to work on that. Still, Jackson leaned in and kissed him anyways, lightly at first then parting his lips to allow Stiles to slip his tongue inside.

Stiles pulled back abruptly and stood up, leaving Jackson on the floor. "Get on your knees," Stiles said, trying to sound stern. The smirk on Jackson's face told him it wasn't exactly working. Stiles folded his arms and waited. Slowly, Jackson moved onto his knees in front of Stiles. He looked up at him, and Stiles put a hand on the side of his face. "Suck me off," He said in a quiet voice. Not exactly forceful, but it seemed to do the trick. Jackson made to pull down his jeans, but Stiles stopped him. "Wait, one second," He said. "Should I—I mean, should I like push your head down or something? Is that what I should do?"

Jackson nodded. "Yeah, shove my head, or pull my hair... that sort of thing,"

"Okay, good, got it—uh, if you want me to stop, tap me twice on my leg, okay?" He said. Jackson nodded again.

Jackson didn't bother with teasing him, and simply took Stiles into his mouth and began to bob his head slowly. With one hand he jerked Stiles off, moving at the same slow rhythm as his mouth. Even though they had just discussed it, Jackson's mouth felt so good around him that he forget he was supposed to be doing something. He placed his hand on the back of Jackson's head and pressed down, shoving himself deeper into Jackson's mouth. Jackson moaned slightly, and began to suck harder and faster, making Stiles gasp. "Oh fuck—Jackson," He sputtered, tightening his grip on Jackson's hair. "You fucking—oh god—"

Stiles thought he should say something, something really nasty and dirty. Jackson said he was into that sort of thing, he would like it. Stiles tried to think of something good, something really creative but nothing came to mind. Even if it had, he wasn't sure he would be able to voice much more than "Oh fuck me," and "holy fuck yes,"

He could feel himself getting close, and he gripped Jackson's head tightly as he thrust into his begging mouth. At the last second he pulled away, letting out a cry as he came. Stiles breathed heavily and looked down at Jackson, whom he had come all over. Most of had gotten on his bare chest, but there was some dripping down his chin.

Jackson wiped at it with the back of his hand. He stood up and grabbed some tissues from his bag and cleaned himself off, as well as the mess he had made on the floor as he'd jerked himself off. Finally he cleaned off Stiles before tucking him back inside his pants. Stiles kissed him slowly as he did, and tried to pull himself back together.

They resumed their spot on the floor, only this time Jackson sat between Stiles' legs, resting back against his chest. Stiles wrapped his arms around him, lightly kissing the side of Jackson's neck. "That was really good," He mumbled, nuzzling against Jackson's hair. "Amazing, actually. Yeah, amazing,"

Jackson ran his fingers along Stiles' arm. "It was good," Jackson agreed. Stiles could tell there was a but coming. "But you could be more rough," He said. "If felt like you were holding back. Were you?"

"I don't know, maybe?"

"Don't," Jackson said. "You're not going to hurt me, I'm a werewolf, remember?"

"Yeah, but still..."

Jackson reached up, and covered Stiles mouth with his hand. "No 'buts,'" He instructed. "Just don't think about it so much,"

Stiles bit Jackson's finger lightly, and Jackson withdrew his hand, shaking his head. "Fine," Stiles said, bending his head to kiss Jackson's shoulder. "I'll be rough," He whispered. He squeezed his arms slightly around Jackson, and nipped at his shoulder.

Jackson smiled, and leaned his head back. "Good," He said, drawing Stiles towards him and pressing their mouths together. "That's all I want,"


	4. Trust Building Exercise

"And though you're so annoying,  
So easy to despise,  
And though there's something scary behind your cold dead eyes,  
And though I'll never like you,  
It's nice to realize,  
Maybe I shouldn't quite say 'never,'  
Maybe, you're not the worst thing ever."  
—Galavant, _Maybe You're Not The Worst Thing Ever_  
  
***

The next day, they had barely made it through the door of their Arcade room before their hands were pulling at each others clothing, mouths hungrily pressed against each other in fast, sloppy kisses. Jackson's fingers were in his hair and his hand roamed impatiently between his legs. "I want you to fuck me, Stiles," Jackson moaned into his ear, biting down on the lobe before looking Stiles in the eye. "I don't care how, just do it,"

Stiles nodded, kissed him again and said "I've been doing some research,"

Jackson shut his eyes, his brow creasing. "That is like, the least sexy thing you could have said just now," He groaned.

"What? Hey, research is sexy," Stiles insisted, slightly offended. "Knowledge is power,"

"Oh god, just stop," Jackson mumbled, taking a step back. He put a hand on his head. "Give me a minute, I need to rethink my entire life," He sighed, and then looked back up at Stiles. "Were you at least researching something sexy?"

Stiles nodded again. "Yeah, I was,"

"Okay, what?"

"BDSM, everything I could learn about it," Stiles said.

Jackson looked surprised. "Oh..." He said, glancing away. "What did you learn?"

"Well, the big thing I learned is that BDSM isn't really about causing someone pain," Stiles began. He had personally been relieved to find that, since he wasn't all that sure that he really wanted to hurt Jackson. But from what he had read, he was  _definitely_ interested in some of the other aspects. "It's about control, and trust,"

Jackson frowned. "But it is kind of about pain too, right?" He asked. Stiles raised his eyebrows. "Sure, control and trust, that's nice... but there'll be some pain too?"

"Well, I mean yeah. However much pain you want there to be, I guess," Stiles said. Jackson seemed pleased with this answer, and said nothing further, so Stiles continued. "So, if you want to give up control to me, that makes you the submissive and me the dominant, or sub and dom. There's a lot of different sort of...  _things_ we can do together, but only if you trust me. Do you?"

Jackson shrugged. "I guess,"

Stiles shook his head. "Well, I think we should wait before doing anything really serious... we've kind of been enemies for a lot of years, it might take a while before we seriously trust each other. We can start off small, do stuff like we did yesterday,"

Jackson nodded once more. "Alright... that sounds okay,"

"Before we do anything though, we need a safe word," Stiles said. "I propose the word 'fire,' because it's short and I think if you yelled out ' _fire!'_  my gut reaction would be to stop whatever I was doing immediately, "

"Fire," Jackson repeated, as if trying out the word. "Sounds good to me,"

"So... do you want to get started?" Stiles asked. Jackson nodded his head.

Stiles pulled Jackson towards him and kissed him roughly, parting Jackson's lips and pushing his tongue inside. Jackson moaned slightly, pulling Stiles closer to him, obviously wanting more. Stiles responded by shoving him back, enjoying the look of surprise on Jackson's face when he did. When he tried to move forward again, Stiles stopped him. He grinned. "Take off your shirt," Stiles instructed. Jackson glared at him for a moment, and he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it to the side. "Now mine,"

Jackson stepped forward and removed Stiles' shirt, and Stiles allowed him another kiss. Then he shoved Jackson back against the wall, grabbed his wrists and pinned them above his head with one hand. Stiles smirked slightly, watching Jackson's face as his other hand slid into his underwear, taking Jackson in his hand. "Do you like that?" He asked quietly. Jackson nodded, grunting slightly as Stiles began to jerk him off. "Do you want more?"

Jackson nodded his head quickly.

Stiles stopped moving his hand. "I want to hear you," Stiles told him. "Do you want  _more?_ "

"Yes, god yes,"

"Tell me what you want,"

"I want—I want you to use your mouth," Jackson stammered. "I want you to suck me off,"

Stiles smirked slightly. "And I want to suck you off, Jackson, I really do," He said, slowly stroking Jackson with his hand. Jackson squirmed underneath him, desperate for something faster and harder than what Stiles was giving him. "But I need you to do something for  _me_ first,"

"Anything, Stiles I'll do anything, please—"

"Remind me how to do it, because I don't  _quite_ remember," Stiles said. Jackson looked surprised, and slightly dismayed. Stiles could feel how hard he was, and knew how painful it would be to delay his orgasm until after he'd gotten Stiles off. "Are you listening, I want a blow job.  _Now,_ "

"Stiles..." Jackson whined, looking at him with a pleading expression.

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "There's a towel in my bag, get it and lay it on the floor. Then get on your knees,"

For a moment, Jackson only glared at him, his jaw tense. Then he snatched up Stiles' backpack and pulled out the towel, lay it out in front of Stiles and kneeled in front of him. As Jackson fumbled with the buckle of his belt, Stiles laced his fingers through Jackson's hair. "And don't even  _think_ about trying to get yourself off. Don't even touch yourself, got it?"

Jackson grumbled some response that Stiles didn't catch, and Stiles yanked his head back. "I said  _got it?_ "

"Yeah I  _got it,_ " Jackson snapped, pulling his head away. Stiles saw his eyes flicker blue for a moment, and he smiled. This was fun.

"Remember, two hard taps and I stop,"

Like the time the previous day, Jackson didn't waste any time with teasing or taunting. He began to suck Stiles off quickly, taking him as deeply into his mouth as he could and bobbing his head fast. Stiles groaned and took hold of Jackson's head, holding him to slow his movements down to a pace he preferred. Though he was still nervous about hurting him, he thrust himself deeper into Jackson's mouth.

Jackson gagged slightly and Stiles thought about letting up, but something about the way Jackson's fingers were digging tightly into his hips made him think better of it. Jackson wanted this, he got off on this. Stiles would not hold back this time.

"You look so good down there, Jackson," Stiles mumbled as he continued to fuck into Jackson's mouth. Jackson's eyes flicked up at him and Stiles licked his lips, and ran his thumb lightly over Jackson's hollowed out cheek. "So beautiful on your knees..."

Jackson continued to look up at him as he sucked him off, and Stiles could feel himself reaching his limit. He wanted desperately to come in Jackson's mouth and watch him swallow it down, but they hadn't talked about that and Stiles wouldn't just spring that on him. He waited until the last possible second when he could feel the orgasm building before he pushed Jackson off, once again coming over Jackson's bare chest.

Stiles breathed heavily, running his fingers through his damp hair. Jackson was still in front of him, obviously waiting for some kind of instruction. Head still swimming, Stiles told him there was some paper towels in his bag, and instructed him to clean them both up. Jackson did as he was told, cleaned first Stiles and then himself, and tucked Stiles back into his pants.

Jackson was still naked and hard, and Stiles pulled him towards him by his hips and gave him a long, slow kiss. "That was good, Jackson," He whispered. "Now you get a reward,"

Stiles sunk to his knees and pressed his lips against Jackson's painfully hard dick, listening to Jackson cry out at the contact. He teased him slightly with his tongue, eliciting a a quiet whimper. "You taste so sweet, Jackson," Stiles murmured, before taking Jackson into his mouth. And Jackson was so thoroughly wound up it was hardly a surprise when he came against Stiles' lips a moment later.

"M'sorry," Jackson muttered, as Stiles spit into a nearby garbage can and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

Stiles shook his head. "And I was so courteous to you," He chided. Jackson glanced away, shrugging, and Stiles smiled.

They pulled the towel Stiles had brought over to the wall and relaxed together on it, Jackson once again lying in Stiles' arms. Stiles stroked his hair. "How do you feel?" He asked. Everything he'd read about BDSM had stressed the importance of aftercare, and Stiles wanted to make sure Jackson felt as good as possible.

Jackson closed his eyes, pressing himself back against Stiles. "Really good," He mumbled. "That was really... that was good,"

"For me too," Stiles agreed. "Is there... can I get you something? There's a vending machine outside, I could get you some water, if you want. Are you cold? I read sometimes you can get cold after, so I brought this really soft sweatshirt of mine, I could get that for you... ?"

Jackson shook his head. "Just... keep holding me, okay? It feels good..."

"Yeah, yeah of course," Stiles said, giving Jackson a light squeeze. He remembered what Jackson said, about wanting to be praised, and tried to think of a compliment. "I like being with you, Jackson," He said quietly. "I like the way you look and the way you feel," He kissed his neck, and nuzzled him softly with his nose. "And the way you taste,"

Jackson smiled slightly, and ran his fingers over Stiles' arm. "I like being with you too, Stiles," He said. "God knows why, but I do,"

Stiles made a face. "Have you ever considered ending your thoughts a sentence earlier?"

"No, not really,"

"Well, you should,"

Jackson just shrugged. "I'll take it into consideration," He said. Stiles knew he would not.

They lay together quietly for a little while, Jackson resting back against Stiles' chest as Stiles continued to stroke his hair gently. "Jackson?" He said softly.

"Mmm?"

"Who'd you have sex with?"

Jackson blinked a few times, taking a moment to comprehend the question. "What?"He sat up and stared at Stiles. "Are you freakin' kidding me?"

"Come on, I'm curious!" Stiles whined. "Why won't you tell me?"

"Maybe because it's none of your business!"

"I think it's because I know them, and you think I'll freak out or something," Stiles countered. Jackson just shook his head. "It is Mr. Harris?"

The look of repulsion on Jackson's face seemed to indicate it was not. "Mr. Harr— _what?_ What the fuck? It's not—why would you even suggest that, god?!"

Stiles shrugged. "Well I don't know, he always seems like weirdly concerned about you, I thought maybe..."

"I cannot stress enough how disgusting the very idea of sex with Mr. Harris is to me," Jackson shook his head. "Oh god, I'm never going to be able to look at him again. Ever. What have you done?"

"Sorry," Stiles said, his grin undermining his apology. "Come on, wouldn't it be easier to just to tell me and have me shut up?"

Jackson shook his head. "Fine, I'll tell you," He said. "It was Derek, okay? Now can we please stop—"

Stiles' mouth fell open.  _"Derek!?_ As in—like  _Derek Hale,_ Derek? That Derek? _"_

Jackson rolled his eyes. "Yeah, Stiles, that Derek..."

Stiles made a few sputtering noises, and continued to gape at Jackson. "How—how? How with Derek? Oh my god,"

"Look it's not that big a deal..."

"Not a big deal? You had  _sex_ with Derek freakin' Hale and it's  _not a big deal?_ " Stiles shook his head. "There's so many questions... does Derek  _know_ how to have sex?"

Jackson snorted slightly. "Oh, he knows,"

"Weird, that's so weird... is that why you're into all that rough stuff? Because of Derek?"

"No, none of that is because of him. Derek's not like that, not into the rough stuff, really..." Stiles raised his eyebrows, waiting for Jackson to expand. Jackson bit his lip. "He's more... gentle, I guess. Tender,"

Stiles held his hands up, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. "Woah woah woah, Derek Hale is  _tender?_ Derek Rip-Your-Face-Off-With-My-Teeth Hale is a  _tender lover?_ " Jackson shrugged and nodded. "No, I don't accept that,"

"Stiles, Derek isn't like you think he is," Jackson said. "I mean, yes he is pretty rough around the edges and he can be an asshole... but there's another side to him, alright?"

"Will the other side  _also_ rip your face off with his claws slash teeth?"

"No,"

Stiles shook his head, refusing to accept the information he was being given. "This just... it doesn't make any sense," He looked up at Jackson. "How many times?"

"How may times what?"

"Did you have  _sex_ with Derek?"

"I don't know, a lot of times, why does it matter?"

"It doesn't, I don't know..." Stiles shook his head again. "This is insane,"

"It's really not," Jackson said. "Why is this so crazy to you?"

"Because it's Derek Hale we're taking about!" Stiles cried. "Didn't he try to kill you once?"

Jackson raised his eyebrows. "He  _did_ kill me, Stiles. You were there,"

"Oh, right... okay so that's even worse! He killed you, and you slept with him? What the hell?"

Jackson pulled away from him, and Stiles could feel him stiffening. "Alright, forget it, I'm leaving, I'll see you tomorrow—"

"No, no no, wait, fuck I'm sorry—" Stiles pulled Jackson back, and wrapped his arms around him again. "Look I'm not judging you. Okay, I know that's how it sounds, like I am judging you but I'm really not... I'm just surprised, because Derek is like this weird stoic like... I don't know, not someone who has sex, at least in my mind..."

"Yeah, well, who he is in your mind is not who he is," Jackson grumbled, slowly letting himself loosen up in Stiles' arms.

"I know, I know—I mean, I don't but I'll take your word for it,"

Jackson snorted. "Yeah, take my word for it..." He leaned in, and pressed his lips against Stiles' jaw. They shifted around slightly and Jackson tilted his chin up, and they began to kiss slowly. Stiles' hand drifted down along Jackson's chest, down to the waistband of his underwear.

There was no more discussion of Derek Hale for the rest of the afternoon.


	5. Sympathy for Pinocchio

"I'm the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life.  
It's awful. If I'm on my way to the store to buy a magazine, even,  
and somebody asks me where I'm going,  
I'm liable to say I'm going to the opera. It's terrible."  
―J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye  
  
***

All in all, things with Jackson were going surprisingly well. Jackson was difficult, and had a tendency to be stubborn and childish, but then so did Stiles. They bickered a bit, picked on and ribbed each other but everyday their insults were becoming more like banter and their bickering was turning playful. They were getting along, and not just when one of them was on their knees. It was strange, and unexpected... but it was nice.

There was only one problem, and that problem had a slightly uneven jawline, big brown puppy dog eyes and went by the name of Scott McCall.

There were very, very few people in the world that Stiles actually felt bad about lying to. In fact, the list consisted entirely of three people: Scott, Scott's Mom, and his own father. Now, the latter two he had long ago reconciled with lying to, deeming it a sort of necessary part of life. Sometimes parents just had to be lied to, and that was the way things were. This had proven to be even more true over the last year, when it had seemed to become impossible to get through a conversation with his Dad without telling some kind of lie. Did he feel good about it? No, of course not. But he wouldn't lose sleep over it, either.

Scott, on the other hand, was different. Scott was supposed to be his partner in crime, the one he told the lies with, not to. He was supposed to be able to tell Scott anything. The fact that he had to hide something from him, something reasonably big, well... it felt pretty damn bad, yeah.

It wasn't every day, but it was enough that it was becoming a problem. Most days after school or lacrosse practice, Scott had work. So they finished changing, or getting their books from their lockers and they said their goodbyes and that was it for the day. Scott went off to work and Stiles went off to the Arcade. No muss no fuss.

But Scott did not always have work. And on those days, before Jackson, they would have usuallyhung out together. Played some video games, considered doing some homework before deciding to play more video games... normal stuff.

Now, on those days when Scott asked "do you want to hang out?" Stiles had to come up with some stupid excuse why he couldn't. And every single time he did, Scott would just nod his head and mumble a small "oh," in response.

It was torture.

Worse than the actual lying was the fact that Scott could tell he was lying, what with him being a werewolf and all. Every time Stiles lied, he could actually see it on Scott's face: he knew he was lying. Knew it, but said nothing. And Stiles knew that Scott knew, and Scott knew that Stiles knew that he knew... and still he just nodded his head, and let Stiles get on with his big fat obvious lie.

It was driving Stiles insane. Lying and getting away with it was one thing... getting caught in a lie and still having to go through with it was another thing entirely.

Rules or no rules... this could not go on. Well, it could. But Stiles didn't want it to, which left him no other choice than to talk to Jackson.

When they met up in the Arcade that day, Stiles was determined to put Jackson in a good mood. While he had learned a lot about BDSM from his research, in truth it hadn't given him half the information he needed. That is, it hadn't taught him anything about Jackson, and what Jackson wanted and needed from him. It hadn't taught him how to make Jackson moan and beg for more, or make him come so many times he insisted he would never be able to again.

These things Stiles had to learn himself. Some things he learned by asking, by listening to Jackson tell him what felt good and what did not, what he wanted more of and what wasn't working. Most things, however, he learned by paying attention. He listened to the noises that escaped Jackson's throat when he touched him, watched the way his mouth opened or he bit his lip. He saw the look in Jackson's eyes when he ordered him to do things, felt the pressure of his fingers as he carried out Stiles' commands. And all the time he learned.

So when Stiles wanted to make sure Jackson was in the best mood possible, he knew what he was doing. He knew what ways to touch and taunt him, the cruel ways Jackson loved to be spoken too... the harshness he craved in every stroke of Stiles' fingers and each lash from his tongue. He knew how to force him down and keep him there, humiliate and hurt and string him along until every ounce of composure was purged from Jackson's system. Knew how to turn him into nothing more than a begging, whimpering mess willing to do any and everything Stiles wished, if only he would give him the sweet release he needed so badly.

Even as he was more focused on Jackson than usual, it was impossible for Stiles not to feel the high of it all. He couldn't deny the thrill that ran through him every time he so much as touched him. Stiles had never known what it could be like, to have another person as completely as he had Jackson. To feel Jackson give himself to him, turn himself out and hand all of his control over to Stiles like this... it was incredible. And it was all the better, because it was Jackson. Jackson the high strung jock, the prom king, the big man on campus... and here he was with his wrists bound behind his back, naked on his knees in front of Stiles.

Stiles loved every moment of it. He had been nervous at the start, sure... but those nerves were gone now, replaced by an undeniable feeling of right. What he was doing with Jackson just felt right, every bit of it. A month ago, Stiles would have laughed at the idea that having anything to do with Jackson could feel so right and good, but now everything was different. He and Jackson were different, and they were better for it. Better together.

It was hours before they were finished. By the time they were collapsed together in a corner, chests heaving and brows lined with sweat, Stiles had almost forgotten he'd had some kind of ulterior motive. It all too easy to get lost in Jackson, lost in what they were doing together. Had he wanted something else? What else could he possibly want, other than just this, forever?

But it came back to him slowly and as they relaxed together, taking time to come back to themselves, back down from the delirious high they'd both reached, Stiles began to formulate what he wanted to say and waited for the right moment.

"How do you feel?" Stiles asked, pressing light kisses against Jackson's temple. "How are your wrists? I didn't tie the rope too tight, did I?"

Jackson snorted. "Uh, no, you didn't," He said. He was lying against Stiles' chest, and he tilted his head back to look at him, raising his eyebrows. "I could've practically slipped my hands out of them,"

"Alright, I'll do it tighter next time,"

"Okay, but it won't be enough," Jackson said. "We're going to have this conversation at least three more times before you get it tight enough,"

"Mmm, probably," Stiles agreed. "But I'll do my best to get it right next time, okay?" He kissed the side of Jackson's mouth. "I'm just worried about cutting off your circulation. If your hands go numb in the middle of things, trust me, it won't be sexy,"

Jackson shook his head, smiling slightly. "Always so cautious..." He mumbled.

Stiles mouth opened slightly, offended. "Excuse me? I am not cautious! Ask anyone—I'm reckless and devil-may-care—no, I am, stop—why are you laughing?"

"I'm not laughing," Jackson said, clearly laughing. "Come on, Stiles. Look, maybe you're reckless in other parts of your life, but when we're together you are tediously careful,"

"Well maybe I'm just worried about hurting you,"

"I know that's what you're worried about, and it's sweet, but it's really not necessary," Jackson said. "For the fiftieth time, let me remind you, I am a werewolf,"

"And let me remind you again, I don't think that matters," Stiles said. "I could still hurt you. Maybe not physically, but, I don't know, emotionally. I just... we need to be careful, okay?"

"And you were saying what a minute ago?"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'm cautious with you, happy now?"

"Deliriously,"

Stiles smiled, and gently turned Jackson's face towards him. "Good," He said quietly, pressing a soft kiss against his mouth. "Jackson... there's sort of something I need to run by you," He began. "It's about your rules,"

"Yeah? What about them?"

"Well, I sort of... I kind of need to... break one,"

"Alright, which one?" Jackson asked. "If it's rule three, you can just go ahead. We've already broken it about a hundred times," He glanced up at Stiles. "I mean, it's not so bad, talking about things,"

"Yeah?" Stiles said, surprised. "I mean, I guess we have... and no, it's not so bad. Communication is important. But that's not it... it's rule one," Stiles cringed, feeling Jackson stiffen in his arms.

"Rule one is no one can know about it," Jackson said.

"Except Erica," Stiles reminded him.

"Yes, obviously, and it's bad enough that she knows... but it's been a month and I don't think she's said anything, so it's not the end of the world..." Jackson frowned deeply. "Who do you want to tell?"

Stiles glanced away, and cringed again. "Uh... well, Scott..."

"Scott?!" Jackson cried, sitting up at staring at Stiles as if he'd lost his mind. "You want to tell Scott McCall?"

"Well, I mean, he is my best friend..."

"I know that, but he's also my—I don't want to say 'arch nemesis,' but it is the phrase that comes to mind,"

"Are you kidding?" Stiles sputtered. "Scott is not your arch nemesis—Scott isn't anyone's arch nemesis. He's too—I mean, have you met Scott? He is not arch nemesis material,"

Jackson rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's exactly it. Everyone thinks he's this sweet, innocent puppy dog who's so perfect and awesome and it's just—why does he get everything? I mean, one day he's this little second string loser with stupid hair, and all of the sudden he has the whole fucking world in his hands! Coach just hands him the lacrosse team, he steals my girlfriend, he turns into some big fucking hero and what do I get? I get turned into a fucking homicidal lizard. I get nightmares, and guilt so bad I want to die—again! But sure, let's just take the one good thing I have right now and let McCall ruin that too," He shot Stiles a fierce, blue-eyed look. "I don't want anyone to know, Stiles. No one. Especiallynot Scott,"

Stiles stared at Jackson, feeling strangely torn between hugging him and slapping him. He decided to do neither, and instead pointed his finger in Jackson's face. "Okay, first of all Scott was only ever co-caption of the team, something he shared with you. Since you were obviously away the day in kindergarten they taught sharing, that's your problem not his. Second, Scott didn't steal Lydia, she kissed him of her own freaking volition, and then you broke up with her. And finally, you're damn right Scott's a hero, and you're lucky he is because he's saved you more than once,"

Jackson glared at him, and when Stiles reached out to put a hand on his face, he smacked him away. Not one to be deterred, Stiles reached out again and grabbed Jackson's face with both hands. "Jackson, what happened to you was not Scott's fault, and it wasn't yours either. It's just something that happened, something awful... and I get that you feel guilty, and I wish I could help with that... but Scott's never done anything to hurt you, alright? He just hasn't," He stroked Jackson's cheek with his thumb, and slowly watched the anger disappear from his eyes.

Pulling himself away from Stiles, Jackson shook his head. "I don't want him to know, okay?" Jackson said quietly. "I just don't,"

Stiles sighed. "Okay, what if... what if I just tell him I'm seeing someone. I won't tell him who, I swear, I just... I can't keep lying to him about what I'm doing every day,"

"Why not?"

"Because he knows I'm lying! Maybe if I was getting away with the lies, it wouldn't be so bad, but I'm not, and it is. It's so shitty, Jackson, it really is,"

Jackson was silent for a few moments. Slowly, he nodded his head. "Alright," He said, turning his eyes back to Stiles. "You can tell him you're seeing someone," He said. A relieved smile grew on Stiles' face. "But I swear, if you ever tell him it's me, this is over, understand?"

Stiles nodded quickly. "I understand, absolutely," He said. He leaned in and gave Jackson a quick kiss. "Thank you, Jackson, seriously,"

"Yeah, yeah..." Jackson muttered, rolling his eyes. Slowly, he settled back against Stiles' chest, although Stiles could still feel a tension in him. Feeling bad, Stiles wrapped his arms tightly around him, and began leaving soft kisses along the back of Jackson's neck.

"Jackson, I know we're not... I know we're supposed to be leaving all the emotional crap out of this, but... if you ever wanted to talk about something, I mean... I'm here," He said quietly. Stiles lifted his head, trying to gauge Jackson's reaction. "The last year, everything that's happened... it's been hard on all of us, and I know you got some of the worst of it, so I'm just saying..."

Jackson was quiet, and for a minute Stiles worried he'd gone too far. He'd already upset him by wanting to tell Scott, and now he was suggesting they break yet another rule.

"Maybe," Jackson said eventually. He glanced over his shoulder at Stiles, and he could see the reservation on his face. What Jackson was so scared of, Stiles didn't know. "Maybe we could... talk or whatever,"  
  
Stiles nodded, leaned in and kissed him. "Yeah, yeah whatever you want,"

  
***

Stiles waited until after school the following day to talk to Scott. He would have brought it up at lunch, but Isaac had begun to sit with them on most days and Stiles had no interest in divulging any personal information to him. It was one of those days where Scott wasn't working, and after school when Scott ran the usual "do you want to hang out" by him, Stiles said "sure." Scott had already begun to nod his head like he did every time Stiles turned him down and when he registered Stiles' answer, his head shot up in surprise and a big smile appeared on his face, making Stiles feel even worse than before.

They went back to Stiles' house, grabbed some snacks and headed down to the basement to play video games. Scott flopped down on the couch and Stiles went over to the large pile of games that had accumulated in the corner of the room, as a result of him never bothering to put anything away. He dug through it for a minute, not really registering the names of any of the games he was looking at. Deciding to bring it up before they became immersed in the game they were playing, Stiles stood back up and turned to his friend.

"Scott, there's something I need to talk to you about," He said.

"Uh, okay," Scott said. He put aside the bag of Doritos he'd been eating, and wiped his hands off on his jeans. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's nothing bad," Stiles said. He took a seat next to Scott on the couch, rubbing his palms together nervously. "It's, well... okay, we both know I've been lying to you for a while now," He began.

Scott gave a one shouldered shrug. "Yeah, I know," He said.

"And I know you know, so it's just stupid for me to continue," Stiles said. "And, for the record, I never wanted to lie in the first place. You're my best friend, dude... having to lie to to you sucked,"

Scott smiled, and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I appreciate that," He said. "And yeah, I didn't like that you were lying to me either,"

"Okay, so I don't want to do that anymore... but I can't exactly tell you the entire truth, either," Stiles continued. Scott raised his eyebrows. "The thing is... I've kind of been seeing someone,"

"Seriously? That's great! Who is it?"

Stiles hesitated. "See, that's what I can't tell you. We kind of have an agreement to keep it a secret... I had to get special permission just to tell you I was seeing someone... I'm still not allowed to tell you who,"

"Oh," Scott said. He picked up the bag of Doritos again, put a chip in his mouth and chewed slowly. Stiles waited for him to say something. "Is it a dude?"

Stiles' mouth opened slightly. "Wha—"

"It's just, I know you're into guys, and I know you're kind of weird about talking about it so... is that why you can't tell me? Because it's a guy?"

Stiles stared at his best friend, a little stunned. He'd had no idea that Scott knew he was into guys, let alone that he didn't like to talk about it. When had Scott become so astute?

"You know I don't care, right?" Scott went on. "I mean, you know it's not in any way a problem, right?" He put his hand back on his shoulder. "You're basically my brother, Stiles. It doesn't matter who you're into," Stiles continued to stare at him, and Scott withdrew his hand. "Just wanted to make sure you knew that,"

Stiles glanced away, clearing his throat. He felt kind of touched. "Yeah, no, of course I knew that," He said. And he had, of course. But still, somehow he felt kind of reassured, hearing it out loud. "It's sort of the reason I can't tell you, I guess... I mean, it's more him than me," Stiles said. "Neither of us are really ready to be... well, out, I guess, but he's really not... I mean, if you think I'm weird about it, I'm nothing compared to him. He's really weird about it," He said, thinking about the way Jackson had vehemently insisted that no one could know about them.

"Why, do you think?" Scott asked.

Stiles shrugged. "No idea. Maybe he's worried about not being accepted, or he thinks that everyone will be freaked out about it... I don't know,"

"That sucks," Scott said.

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, it does,"

They were both quiet for a few minutes. Stiles suddenly wished he'd asked Jackson why he was so adamant that no one could find out about them. Was it just that he was embarrassed about Stiles, or was it more than that?

Scott cleared his throat and Stiles looked up at him, saw he was fiddling with a patch of pulled up fabric on the couch. "I actually kind of have news, too," He said slowly. "Well, it's not news really, it's probably not even anything but, I don't know, it might be something,"

"What is it?"

Scott glanced at him, and ran his fingers through his hair. "I kind of think I might be getting back together with Allison," He said.

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "What seriously? Dude, that's great! Details, come on,"

Scott's face was slightly flushed, and he looked away again, obviously embarrassed. Stiles had to smile. It had used to annoy him to no end, when Scott would get all gooey over Allison, but now he kind of missed it. "We haven't talked about anything, but we've had a few... I don't know, moments, I guess, since school started. And the other day I walked her to her car and she kind of... she kissed me,"

Stiles punched Scott on the arms. "Hey, that's awesome!"

Scott nodded. "The fall formal is coming up in two weeks, do you think I should ask her?"

"Yeah, I think you should," Stiles said. Scott and Allison had made a great, if not sometimes annoyingly lovey-dovey, couple. He'd never understood why they'd broken up.

Scott smiled. "Alright, I will. I'm gonna ask her," He said. "Come on, let's play some video games," Scott stood up and went over to the game pile and started sorting through them, looking for what they should play.

Having finally ended the ridiculous lying to his best friend, Stiles felt relieved. But for some reason, a weight still seemed to press on him. Despite himself, and despite all logic and reason... he was beginning to find he liked Jackson. And if they continued to be together, he knew it was only going to get worse. How was that going to feel, when it was obvious Jackson would never let it go anywhere? With all his rules and his fears... Stiles knew they would never be able to have anything like a real relationship. One where they kissed in the parking lot, or went to dances or held hands where others could see them.

Most of the time, he felt as if he and Jackson were on the same page, wanting something easy and uncomplicated, wanting each other for the warmth of their bodies and nothing more... but suddenly he wasn't so sure. It wasn't that he was suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to go on dates with Jackson and have a real relationship... but when he considered that there was not even the possibility of letting something more develop... it didn't feel good.

And if his feelings continued to grow, he didn't know if he would be okay with keeping their relationship locked up in the dark, sleazy Arcade where it would never be anything more than sex.


	6. Mr. Brightside

"I'm going out,  
I'm gonna drink myself to day  
And in the crowd  
I see you with someone else,  
I brace myself  
Cause I know it's going to hurt  
But I like to think at least things can't get any worse."  
—Florence and the Machine, Hurricane Drunk  
  
***

It was the evening of the fall formal and Stiles was alone. He'd gone to a dance alone before, of course, but he had never felt quite so alone as his did at this one. At least before, Scott had always been there to be alone with him. But Scott had asked Allison and she had said yes. Stiles could see the two of them now, dancing with their arms around each other as if they had never been apart. And Stiles was happy for him, he honestly was... but he could not deny that he was just a little bitter, too.

In an attempt to not be alone at the dance, he had actually asked Lydia if she would like to go with him, as friends. In what felt like a very cruel twist of fate, Lydia had declined, as she was already going "as friends" with Jackson. The pair were now dancing not far away from Scott and Allison, Jackson with his arms around Lydia's waist and Lydia resting her head on Jackson's shoulder. Stiles tried to ignore the churning feeling in his stomach as he watched them together... they sure didn't look like a couple of friends.

Forcing himself to look away, Stiles glanced around him, surveying the room. The two chaperones, Coach Finstock and Mr. Harris, were engaged in what looked like a heated argument with each other. Stiles took the opportunity to sneak a drink from the flask he'd brought, gritting his teeth as the harsh alcohol burned his throat.

"Excuse me son, but there's no alcohol permitted at this dance, I'm going to have to ask you to leave,"

Stiles jumped slightly, clumsily shoving his flash back inside his jacket and looking around for who had caught him. Relief, followed by annoyance, came as he spotted Boyd and Erica beside him, Erica snickering quietly and Boyd looking pretty pleased with himself. "Thanks for the heart attack," Stiles muttered as Erica took a seat next to him and Boyd next to her. "Really, I mean it,"

"You just looked so sad sitting there all alone with your flask," Erica said, exchanging grins with Boyd. "We couldn't pass up the opportunity to fuck with you,"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Do you want something?"

Erica shrugged. "Nope, not really," She said. The slightly devlish look in her eye seemed to Stiles to suggest otherwise. "They make a cute couple, don't they?"

Stiles' eyebrows knit together. "Who?" He asked, although he had a feeling he knew who she meant.

"Jackson and Lydia," Erica said, confirming Stiles' suspicions. Stiles turned away from her, and said nothing. "I saw you watching them before. You know, Stiles, jealousy is really unattractive,"

Stiles shot a glare at her, unable to stop himself from glancing at Boyd. Had she told him already, or was she planning on doing it now, just to torture him? Boyd's wore a neutral expression on his face, showing none of Erica's mirth. Maybe he knew, and he just didn't care?

"Are Jackson and Lydia back together?" Boyd asked. Stiles' stomach sank. Maybe he did know, after all.

"Hmm, I don't know," Erica said, eyeing the dancing couple from across the room. "They sure look pretty cosy, don't they?"

Stiles gritted his teeth, reminding himself that punching Erica would result in his imminent death. Her statement hurt, and so much more than it would have if she hadn't been right. It wasn't even a slow song anymore, and Jackson and Lydia were still dancing close to each other, hands on each others bodies and faces close enough to kiss. If Lydia tilted her head up just an inch, her mouth would be pressed flush against Jackson's...

Stiles swallowed, trying to get the image out of his head. He could feel Erica watching him, and he didn't want to make taunting him even easier than it already was.

Forcing himself to turn back to Erica, he was surprised to see that the devlish look was gone from her eyes. "But I don't think they are back together. Jackson said they were just going as friends, and they should really just keep it that way," She said. "They're no good for each other. Too similar," Stiles raised his eyebrows, surprised at the change in tune.

"Having a lot in common is a bad thing?" Boyd asked.

"In their case, yeah," Erica replied. "They feed off each others bitchiness, you know? It's too much drama. No one needs that,"

Boyd shrugged. "I guess," He said. The song changed, and the fast pop music faded out to another slow song. Why the hell were they playing so many ballads tonight? Stiles was going to have a talk with the DJ, and insist they start playing songs that could only be danced to by moshing. No one could mosh romantically, he was sure. "Come on, let's go, I like this song," Boyd said, standing up.

"Aw, gee Boyd that's really sweet," Stiles replied. "But I think Erica might get jealous,"

Boyd gave Stiles a severely unamused look, then held out his hand to Erica, who took it and stood up. "Bye Stilinksi," She said, sauntering away with Boyd. "Good luck,"

Stiles glumly watched them walk away, wishing they'd stuck around a bit longer. Without anyone to talk to, he was drawn right back to watching Jackson and Lydia dance together, now with their foreheads pressed together as they turned slowly to the music.

Suddenly unable to take anymore of it, Stiles stood up and headed out of the gym, not entirely sure where he was going. Home, he supposed. But the idea of getting in his jeep and driving back to sit alone in his dark room seemed even more depressing than sitting alone at the dance.

Instead of heading out of the school, he went up to the second floor and ducked into a bathroom. Once inside he pulled out his cellphone and sent a text message to Jackson, telling him where he was and to come meet him.

The moment it was sent, Stiles regretted it. When had he become so needy? Was he a toddler throwing a temper tantrum because he wasn't being paid attention to? He should send Jackson another message, telling him to ignore the first. Jackson was having a nice time with Lydia, there was no reason for Stiles to get in the middle. He would see Jackson the following day in the Arcade, and he would get the attention he needed then.

Stiles turned the phone over in his hands for a moment, considering this, and then stuffed it back into his pocket. He pulled out his flask again and took another drink, wondering how drunk he could make himself before Jackson showed up. At least then he would have an excuse for his actions...

After a few minutes of waiting, the door to the bathroom opened and Jackson walked in. "What've you got there?" he asked, as Stiles lowered his flask.

Stiles glanced at the flask, and raised his eyebrows. "I would've thought you'd recognize an alcoholic beverage when you saw one, Whittemore,"

Jackson rolled his eyes, stepping towards him. "I meant what kind of alcohol," He said. He pulled the flask from Stiles' hand and took a swig. He grimaced. "You're drinking the cheap stuff, Stilinksi,"

Stiles shrugged. Before Jackson could say anything else, Stiles pulled him forward by his tie and pressed a hard kiss against his mouth.

After only a moment, Jackson shoved him back, shaking his head. "We can't do this, Stiles," He said. "Not here, not now... remember rule number five?"

"Fuck your stupid rules, I need you," Stiles mumbled, stepping towards Jackson again. He wanted to kiss him, wanted to shove him against the wall and jerk him off. Suddenly he didn't care who knew or who didn't, or if they got caught by everyone in the entire school. He just wanted Jackson, and he wanted him now.

Stiles leaned in to kiss him again, but Jackson put a hand on his chest, stopping him. "The rules aren't stupid, Stiles. We have them for a reason," He said, looking annoyed. Stiles gave him a pleading look, wishing he could explain to him how awful and alone he felt. Jackson sighed, and his expression softened. "Look, what if I come over after the dance?" He asked. "Think you can make it until then?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, I can..." He said. Jackson nodded and turned to go, but Stiles pulled him back. When Jackson turned back around he kissed him again, softly this time.

They pulled apart slowly, neither really wanting to break the kiss. "I'll come by around midnight," Jackson said quietly. Stiles mumbled an okay, and Jackson pulled away again.

"Wait," Stiles said. Jackson paused by the door. "You have my flask,"

Jackson glanced down at the flask in his hand, and then smiled. "You owe me a thank you," He said.

Stiles raised his eyebrows. "For what?"  
  
"For saving you from a lifetime of alcoholism," Jackson replied. Then he ducked out of the door, leaving Stiles alone again.

  
***

Stiles stayed at the dance for another hour before heading home. Knowing he would be seeing Jackson later had made the rest of the night slightly more bearable. Scott and Allison had taken a short break from dancing and sat with him for a bit, and it was nice to catch up with Allison, whom he had not spoken to in a while. The two of them seemed to be having an incredible night together, which was nice to see (Stiles ignored his jealous twinges). If there were any two people who deserved to have a great night, it was Allison and Scott.

At nine he texted Scott that he was leaving, and headed out to his jeep. Scott sent a frowny face back, along with the message "see you later, dude."

His father was watching television when Stiles arrived home, but when he saw Stiles he turned it off and tried to talk to him about the dance. Stiles mumbled his way through the conversation, telling him it was alright but a little boring, which is why he'd left early. He'd left out the parts which involved crippling jealousy and loneliness.

Getting through the conversation as quickly as possible, Stiles headed up to his room and did some light cleaning, chucking his clothes in the hamper and cleaning up the piles of paper and books on his desk. He considered making his bed, but since Jackson was coming over, he figured they would probably be using it... although with his father just down the hallway, Stiles wasn't sure how he felt about that. Maybe they'd be better off heading down to the basement...

Just in case, Stiles went down to the basement and tidied that up a little bit, before settling down and playing some video games to kill time before Jackson arrived. When it began to approach midnight, he went back upstairs and waited for him in his room.

Jackson appeared at his window a few minutes after midnight. "You better make this worth my while, Stiles," Jackson said, as Stiles let him inside. "I'm missing Danny's after party for you,"

"Oh, right, I forgot about the after party," Stiles said. He almost felt bad for making Jackson miss it. Almost. "Wouldn't you rather be here with me anyways?"

Jackson shrugged, stepping towards him. "Depends on what you've got in mind," He said quietly. Jackson grinned, and gave him a slow, light kiss.

"Can we take things easy tonight?" Stiles asked. Jackson raised his eyebrows. "I just mean... I don't know, my Dad's around. I feel kind of weird doing the kinky shit when he's so close by... Okay, I feel weird doing anything when he's around, but you know what I mean..." He ran his fingers through his hair. "So can we just keep things, like... vanilla?"

Jackson tilted his head to the side. "Vanilla?" He questioned.

"It means like... non-BDSM sex."

"I don't think we've actually been having sex, Stiles," Jackson said, taking a seat on the edge of Stiles' bed.

"Well, that depends on what your definition of sex is," Stiles said. "I don't think we should limit the definition to only include anal intercourse,"

Jackson pulled a face. "God, Stiles, it just sounds so sexy when you say it like that,"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Shut up. I'm just saying, I think sex is more than that,"

"You mean it's also about emotions?" Jackson drawled.

"No, I mean it's also about blow jobs and stuff," Stiles said, sitting down next to Jackson on the bed.

Jackson considered this. "Maybe," He said. He leaned in and pressed his mouth against Stiles'. "But maybe we should explore all the options, before we come to a conclusion,"

Jackson's mouth was wet and warm, and his words made Stiles' pulse quicken. If not for his father down the hall, Stiles thought he would have pushed him down and fucked him right then and there. "Hold that thought," Stiles said. He got up and rushed over to his closest, dug around for a plastic bag hidden at the back. "Alright, let's go," He said.

Jackson raised an eyebrow. "What's that?"

"Uh, condoms, lubricant—oh, we should probably bring a towel down..."

"Down?"

"I figured we should go to the basement," Stiles said. "Way less chance of my Dad hearing anything if we're down there,"

Jackson nodded. "Okay... Stiles, hold on, I wasn't... I mean, I want to have sex with you, obviously, but it doesn't need to be right now. We can wait, or whatever,"

"Do you want to wait?" Stiles asked.

"No, but I don't want to rush you, either,"

Stiles strode over to Jackson, grabbed him by the hand and pulled him up. "I don't want to wait. I don't even know why we waited, I guess I just didn't want to do it for the first time in a place like the Arcade,"

"Understandable," Jackson said. "So... basement?"

Stiles grabbed a towel and a blanket from the linen closest, and the two quietly snuck downstairs. The lights in the basement had a dimmer switch, and he turned the lights down low, but kept them up enough that they'd be able to see each other.

"So what exactly have you got in the bag?" Jackson asked, taking a seat on the couch.

Stiles turned the bag over, spilling the contents onto the coffee table in front of the couch. "I got condoms—you know there are no condoms out there specifically for anal sex?"

"I did not know that," Jackson replied.

"Yeah, it's weird. I mean, these should work fine, but still..."

"Can I ask why you've got three different types of lube here?" Jackson asked, picking up a bottle.

"Well, I wasn't sure what to get," Stiles said, running his fingers through his hair. "See, the one you're holding is silicone based, which is supposedly better for anal sex," Stiles paused, as Jackson reached into his pocket and pulled out the flask he'd taken from Stiles earlier. He took a drink, closed it, and then looked up at Stiles as if waiting for him to continue. "What was that?"

"Every time you say the words 'anal sex,' I'm taking a drink," Jackson said, a grin forming on his face. Stiles folded his arms across his chest. "Oh come on, it's funny,"

"Jackson, we're not going to have anal sex, without talking about anal sex first," He said. Jackson began to unscrew the lid of the flask again, and Stiles grabbed it out of his hand. "You stop that," He scolded. Jackson snickered, and leaned back on the couch. "So anyways, that one is better for sex in the butt, but it doesn't work as well with condoms. But I thought, do we even have to use a condom? Obviously there's no risk of pregnancy, and you can't get any diseases," Stiles shrugged. "I figured I'd let you decide,"*

"I'm fine with not using one," Jackson said. "Like you said, there's no risk. You couldn't give me anything, and I couldn't give anything to you,"

"Right, except..." Stiles frowned, thinking something over. "I've got a question, if an alpha werewolf had sex with a human and didn't use a condom, could they turn them?" He asked. Jackson stared at him, not impressed with the question. "You know, I think I saw that in a movie once—"

"What are the other ones?" Jackson interrupted. "The other lubes? What are they?"

"Oh... that one is water based, because it's better for use with a condom. This one," Stiles picked up the third bottle. "Is flavoured. I don't know why we would need that, but it seemed like a good idea at the time," He flopped back down next to Jackson, and picked up the first bottle again. "So silicone it is?" He asked, leaning in for a kiss.

Jackson nodded. "You're on top, right?" He mumbled in between presses of their mouths, his hand already sliding up Stiles' thigh.

"Yeah, if—if that's okay," Stiles gasped slightly as Jackson's hand moved between his legs. At that moment he became acutely aware that they were both wearing far too much clothing, Stiles began to move Jackson's jacket off his shoulders, before removing his own and tossing them both aside. "Clothes—off, now—" He muttered. They broke apart to work on shedding their clothes, each stripping down until they were both in their underwear. Then Jackson lay back on the couch, and Stiles moved over him, eyes roaming over Jackson's body. He wanted to take in every inch of him, remember every detail of what was happening because it suddenly seemed like the most important thing he would ever do.

They moved quickly at first, kissing and touching each other with a frenzied passion that clouded Stiles' mind. He wanted Jackson, wanted to fuck him and hear him moan and cry out for more. It wasn't long before their underwear was added to the piles of clothing on the floor, and Stiles found himself kneeling between Jackson's legs, fingers wet with lube and pressed inside of him. He watched Jackson tilt his head back, gasping slightly as Stiles made him ready.

Stiles made an effort to slow down then, to take his time and keep a cool head. He wanted to make this just as good for Jackson as it was for him. He moved slowly, working his fingers inside of Jackson, using the way Jackson moved and the noises he made to guide him, tell him what to do.

Before long Jackson was telling him it was enough, he was ready and he wanted Stiles to fuck him now. Stiles made no argument.

Arms wrapped around each other and legs tangled they moved together, mouths pressed half over each other as Stiles thrust inside of Jackson, in slow but hard strokes. Jackson turned his face and bit down his lip to keep from crying out. Stiles let his head fall against Jackson's neck, breathing in Jacksons scent like he needed it to live.

As Stiles fucked him, Jackson's hands went to jerk himself off, but Stiles brushed them aside, preferring to do it himself. "Don't think I wont take care of you, Jackson," Stiles mumbled as his fingers worked him over. "I always will,"

Jackson nodded slightly, and Stiles saw his face was flushed and the teeth biting down on his lip had turned to fangs, drawing blood. "Relax, Jackson... it's okay..." Stiles kissed him, his lips pressing against the corner of his mouth before he managed to land them properly against Jackson's. He could taste Jackson's blood, coppery in his mouth, but he didn't mind. A little blood was a small price to pay for this feeling.

The orgasm came upon Stiles suddenly, not building slowly and approaching quietly like usual, but instead sneaking up behind him and hitting him over the head with a hammer. He moaned loudly and lurched forward as it struck him, whimpered as the intensity of it tore through him, leaving him raw and weak. His hand stilled against Jackson for only a moment as he collected himself, dropping his head against Jackson's chest. Then he kissed his way down Jackson's body and took him in his mouth, sucking him off until Jackson came as well.

Afterwards, when Stiles had rinsed his mouth out in the sink of the basements bathroom and cleaned both him and Jackson up with the towel he'd brought down, he lay back down against Jackson's chest, and for a change let Jackson wrap his arms around him. The blanket he'd brought was lying on the floor by the couch, and with one arm Stiles grabbed it and hauled it up over them, enjoying the feeling of the soft fabric against his skin.

"So how was that?" Jackson asked, as Stiles left lazy kisses along his chest.

Stiles shrugged. "I've had better," He said. Jackson shoved him slightly, and Stiles laughed. "It was perfect, okay?"

Jackson placed his fingers under Stiles' chin and tilted his face towards him. "For me too," He said, kissing him lightly. They lay together in silence for a little while, enjoying the warmth and comfort the other provided. Stiles could not remember having ever felt this good before, and he wondered if he would ever feel this good again.

"I missed you tonight," Jackson said quietly. "At the dance, I kept thinking about you... I felt bad you had to be there alone,"

"It's alright," Stiles said. Somehow the dance felt as if it had been years ago, a long forgotten memory of a much less pleasant time. Had it really only been a few hours? "I'm not alone now," Jackson smiled, and kissed his forehead, and Stiles looked up at him. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure,"

"Are you going to get back together with Lydia?"

Jackson didn't answer immediately. "I don't know," He said after a moment. "I think she wants to..."

Stiles considered that, looking away again. "Don't,"

"What?"

"I said... don't get back together with Lydia,"

Jackson paused. "Okay," He agreed.

Stiles sat up slightly, turning to look at Jackson again. "Will you stay the night?" He asked. "You can sneak out tomorrow morning, before my Dad goes to work," He said.

Nodding, Jackson brushed his fingers over Stiles' cheek. "I'll stay," He said.

Stiles leaned in and gave him a soft, slow kiss. "Thank you," He whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Further research tells me that the information Stiles presents here is inaccurate. Silicone based lubricants work fine with condoms. It is oil based that should not be used with condoms, as it causes them to break down.
> 
> The more you know.


	7. Four Is A Crowd

"I know I'm fucking moody  
And I know I'm quite unkind  
I know I'm kinda of distant  
But you're always on my mind."  
—The Vaccines, Weirdo  
  
***

After spending the night together, things felt... different. They began to meet up whenever possible, met up every single day if they could manage it. Sometimes they were together for hours, fooling around until they were thoroughly exhausted and then lounging around in each others arms until they were ready to go again. Other days it was shorter, just some quick blow jobs and then they were off to whatever it was in their lives that was demanding their attention. Stiles knew he preferred the long, drawn out days. He thought Jackson did too.

On the rare day they would not see each other at all, Stiles felt as if he were going out of his mind. His fingers ached with the need to touch Jackson, to feel his skin and taste him. His mind raced and he found he could concentrate on nothing. Was this what addiction felt like? Was Jackson some drug that Stiles was becoming dependent on? Was Jackson feeling this way as well, or was Stiles alone in this growing agony? He wondered, but he knew he would never ask.

He thought it might have been different if their time together did not start and end at the Arcade. Outside of those walls, it was as if his time with Jackson had never happened. At school they pretended the other did not exist. They did not text each other through out the day, they did not talk on the phone at night. When they were together in the Arcade, it was as if they were the only two people in the world. And when they were not, Stiles was all alone again.

It didn't seem to be a problem for Jackson, to turn his feelings on and off whenever he liked, but for Stiles it was impossible. He worried about what it meant, about how everything was beginning to suggest to him that his feelings for Jackson and Jackson's feelings for him would never be on equal ground. Stiles wanted more, he wanted Jackson all of the time. He hated hiding, hated lying and pretending and sneaking. It had been fun at first, felt nice to have something the rest of the world knew nothing about, but now it was tiring.

Would Jackson ever want more than what they were doing? Was this truly enough for him? After all, He had allowed several of his rules to be broken, opened up and exposed the parts of him that were not flesh and bone, but insecurity and fear and shame. He had shared himself with Stiles in ways that had nothing to do with sex, and Stiles had given himself up to Jackson just the same. The things they had wanted when they began were not what they wanted now, and yet Jackson still insisted it stay a shameful secret, locked up in the Arcade to be witnessed by no one but the stoner clerk that saw them arrive and leave together.

For all his worrying and wondering, all the questions and uncertainties, all Stiles really knew for sure was that when he wasn't with Jackson, he missed him. He missed the way he made him feel calm and secure—not exactly safe, but something very similar to it. Content, he supposed. When he was with Jackson, whether they were fooling around or just lying in each others arms, he felt content. Like maybe the world wasn't ending, and maybe he didn't need to worry so much about the next horrible threat that was going to ruin all of their lives. Maybe that threat would never come. Maybe things would just... be okay.

And on the days when he wasn't so sure, when his anxieties ate at him and his fears overwhelmed, for the first time in a long time, Stiles had someone to share them with. He had someone to tell his troubles to, someone who would listen and comfort him and most of all, understand. Someone who was going through their own torments, having their own nightmares and struggling with their own fears. And Stiles would listen to those fears and try to calm them, try to help in whatever way he could.

"I've just, I've struggled my whole life to be the best, to be someone worthwhile and I just feel like it was all for nothing," Jackson told him one day, as they rested together in the Arcade. Stiles kissed Jackson's shoulder and neck as he spoke, running his fingers through Jackson's sweaty hair. "I wanted to be a werewolf so I could get back what I had before, but it's useless. I'm finally a wolf, and I'm strong and fast and my senses are crazy and... and none of it matters. I still feel like I'm nothing, like I'm not good enough and I just—what if it never goes away? What if I feel like this my entire life?"

"You're not nothing, Jackson," Stiles told him, squeezing him tightly in his arms. "You're worthwhile. You think I'd waste all this time with some loser?"

"Yes," Jackson muttered. "How else do you explain McCall?"

Stiles nudged him. "Hey, Scott's not a loser, alright? He's amazing, lay off him,"

Jackson rolled his eyes. "Right, I forgot. He's Mr. Hero. Scott McCall is a hero and I'm a murderer that should've been put down,"

"Only an idiot would say that,"

"You said that, remember?"

"And it's widely agreed that I'm an idiot," Stiles turned Jackson's face towards him, and kissed him softly. "I was wrong, Jackson, and you know it. You have to stop comparing yourself to others, to Scott or anyone. You're doing your best, you're trying. It's enough,"

Jackson glanced away. "It doesn't feel like enough,"

"I know, but it is,"

Jackson's fears didn't end with not being good enough. Just like Stiles, he was afraid of what was coming next, afraid he would be helpless to stop it. The lives he'd taken as the kanima weighed heavily on him, and he was desperate to make up for it, to help instead of hurt. All he'd done his whole life was hurt people, Jackson said. He wanted to be different, to be better. He wanted to help people, like Stiles did.

Stiles had only shaken his head, and told him he was wrong. He was not the ideal that Jackson should aspire to. Whenever it had counted, Stiles had failed to do the right thing every time. Scott was a hero, and Stiles was his best friend... but that did not make him a hero himself.

Together they discussed every fear they had, their senses of failure and their worries about the future and about themselves. They tried to offer the other help when they could, but more often than not the comfort of their arms was the most they were able to give. But it was alright. Just having someone to talk to, someone to sympathize with... it didn't make it go away, but it made it less awful to bare. It made it so that whatever suffering Stiles felt himself enduring, at least with Jackson he was not doing it alone.  
  
But only in the Arcade.

  
***

"Alright, class settle down now, back in your seats," Announced Stiles' English teacher, Mrs. Tanner. She waved her hand at them, gesturing for everyone to sit. Looking around, Stiles didn't actually see anyone out of their seats. Most people were just talking quietly to the person in the desk next to them, or looking at their cellphones. A few were even reading. "I'm introducing a new assignment today—now no groaning, you knew this was coming—" Stiles did not hear any groaning. "This project will be done in a group of four,"

Okay, now Stiles felt like groaning. Group projects were the worst. Mostly because they involved working with other people.

"You may pair yourself up with a partner of your choosing, and then I will put two pairs together,"

Well, that wasn't so bad. At least he could ensure that one of the people he worked with was Scott. He glanced to his right where Scott was sitting, and they exchanged the perfunctory "partners?" look. Scott nodded, and Stiles gave a thumbs up.

"Now, no one get up yet," Mrs. Tanner continued (no one had). "Let me explain the assignment first. It'll be a presentation on Hamlet, which you all should have read by now. Your group will choose a theme from the play, give an explanation of the theme in relation to Hamlet, as well as another work that we've read this semester. Alright, you have five minutes to get into pairs,"

Having already accomplished this, Scott and Stiles took the time to discuss what other story they'd like to do their assignment on. "We should do Frankenstien," Stiles said. "We can talk about madness, and how it can destroy the lives of everyone around you and crap,"

Scott smiled. "I don't know if Frankenstien was mad. I think he was just dumb and selfish,"

"Well, that too, obviously," Stiles agreed. "But there was definitely a lot of madness there, too,"

"Maybe we can talk about the creature as like... kind of a physical representation of Frankenstien's madness," Scott said. "If that makes sense..."

"Yeah, yeah it does make sense. And we can compare the monster to the ghost in Hamlet, because they're both kind of—"

"Okay, okay that's enough commotion for now," Mrs. Tanner spoke up, once again waving her hand to quiet the non-existent noise. "Does everyone have a partner? If you don't have a partner, stand up," She paused for a minute, waiting. Slowly, and very reluctantly, two girls on either side of the room stood up, heads hung in embarrassment. "Alright, Samara you pair up with Reagan," She said. Reagan nodded her head, and went across the room to her partner. "Now that everyone is paired up, I'm going to number you off. Pay attention to the other pair that has the same number as you, you'll be working with them," She began to point at students issue number, and Stiles and Scott received a four.

Stiles watched the teacher move around the room, assigning numbers. He hoped that Reagan and Samara didn't get the other four. Both girls were kind of strange and quiet, and to be honest they kind of weirded him out.

Mrs. Tanner pointed to Reagan and Samara, and deemed them number three. Stiles let out a breath of relief. It was short lived, because a moment later, the teacher pointed to another pair of students, said "Four," and suddenly Stiles wished it had been the other girls. This grouping was going to be far, far worse.

"I guess we're working with Jackson and Lydia," Scott said. "That's not so bad, right?" He said.

Stiles could not have disagreed more.

At lunch, Lydia and Jackson sat down at their table and Lydia informed them of what they would be doing for their project. They would be doing the theme of madness, but they would be relating it to The Yellow Wallpaper, and not Frankenstien. And it wasn't just plain old madness they were doing, because that was too simple. They would focus on female madness, specifically how the women were driven mad by the men in their lives, those rat bastards.

Stiles attempted to protest at first, but the look Lydia had given him when he opened his mouth had shut him up fast.

All the while Lydia talked, Jackson said nothing. He kept his head down, staring at the scratched up cafeteria table as if it were the most fascinating thing he'd seen in his life. Stiles wished he would look up, glance in his direction, make eye contact... anything. He didn't know why, but Jackson's surly silence made him uneasy.

Lydia went on to tell them that they would be meeting after school, to discuss the project further. The way she said this, it was clear that it was non-negotiable. Then she picked up her books, tapped Jackson on the shoulder, and the two walked off. Stiles stared after them, wondering how on earth he was going to get through this.

***

After school, Stiles drove himself and Scott over to Lydia's home. He'd spent the rest of the day trying to come up with excuses for why he had to duck out, and had come up with nothing Lydia would accept. Unless he was willing to fake his own death (and in this town, even that was not foolproof) he was going to have to go through with this.

Perhaps it would not be so bad.

And perhaps the sky would open up, and pink monkeys would rain down from the heavens. Anything was possible, after all.

Lydia greeted them at the door and led them to the kitchen where they'd be working. Jackson was already sitting at the kitchen table, half-heartedly leafing through his copy of Hamlet. He did not look up when they entered the room.

"Jackson is looking for evidence of Ophelia's oppression," Lydia explained, taking a seat next to him. Stiles and Scott sat down at the other end of the table. "Aren't you, Jackson?" Lydia put her hand on Jackson's arm, and he glanced up at her and nodded. "Good,"

Stiles swallowed slightly, trying and failing not to look at Lydia's hand on Jackson's arm. Lydia was saying something, probably telling them what she'd decided they would be doing for the rest of the afternoon, but Stiles couldn't hear her. As Lydia removed her hand from his arm, and instead picked up her print out of The Yellow Wallpaper, he let out a breath he had not even realized he'd been holding.

Alright, that was just ridiculous. What the hell was his problem? All Lydia had done was touch Jackson's arm and he'd started to get all worked up. Over what? Lydia and Jackson were friends, she could touch his freakin' arm if she wanted. Stiles did not want to be that person, the one who became irrationally jealous over the simplest act, who lost his head every time the person he cared for so much as spoke to another human being.

He needed to get a grip on himself.

Deciding he needed to focus completely on doing work, he threw himself into the job Lydia had assigned him, refusing to let himself think about or look at anything else.

In a complete disregard for Stiles' resolution to concentrate solely on his work, the others all began to discuss their take on The Yellow Wallpaper. Stiles tried to tune them out, but it wasn't easy to ignore three people having a conversation all around him. Eventually he looked up, and his stomach clenched tightly when he saw that Lydia now had her hand on the back of Jackson's neck, and seemed to be stroking his hair.

"Jackson, did you even read the story?" Lydia asked, a slight smile on her face.

Jackson shrugged. "I skimmed it. There was a woman, there was wallpaper... it was yellow. I got the gist,"

Lydia shook her head. "You know, Jackson, being as pretty as you are does not excuse putting zero effort into academics," She said. "Recent studies suggest one can be hot and smart,"

"Not everyone is you, Lydia," Jackson replied.

Lydia smiled slightly, and Stiles began to grind his teeth. This was not nothing, not a casual hand on the arm, or harmless banter with a friend. This was flirting. Lydia was flirting with Jackson, and Jackson was flirting back with her. He watched Lydia smiled at Jackson, and the look in her eyes said nothing about wanting friendship.

As Stiles continued to seethe, Scott nudged him with his arm. "Are you okay?" He asked quietly. "Your heart is kind of pounding like crazy,"

Stiles' eyes flicked over to Jackson for a moment. "I'm fine," He muttered.

He tried to go back to his work, to concentrate on what he was supposed to be doing. But then Lydia would laugh at something Jackson said, or one of them would say something flirtatious, and he would feel himself getting tense all over. Lydia kept touching Jackson's arm, and the action no longer seemed harmless to him. Somehow it felt like they were doing this deliberately to hurt him, forcing him to watch their sick mating ritual, knowing he was unable to say anything about it.

Suddenly he could take it no longer.

"I thought the story was stupid," Stiles blurted, not even sure what he was saying. He'd actually liked The Yellow Wallpaper, found it tragic and sympathized with the unfortunate protagonist. "So you're stuck in a room with some ugly ass wallpaper, get the hell over it. Her husband was probably right to lock her up, if she was already so unstable that something like wallpaper could crack her up like that—"

The glare on Lydia's face was fearsome enough to scare even the bravest warrior into submission, and Stiles abruptly stopped talking. Why he'd said any of that in the first place, he did not know.

"The wallpaper was a symbol," Lydia snapped. "For her domestic oppression, for her lack of control over her own life. It wasn't just ugly wallpaper, Stiles, and if you think her husband was even something remotely close to right—"

"Lydia, calm down, he's just being Stiles," Jackson said, putting a hand on Lydia's shoulder.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Stiles asked, offended.

"Jackson's right, just ignore him," Scott agreed.

Stiles turned to him, his mouth open. "Et tu, Brute?" He asked.

Scott raised his eyebrows. "What kind of a reaction did you think that was going to get, dude? You heard Mrs. Tanner talk about the significance of this story, and obviously Lydia picked it for a reason..."

"Oh?" Lydia challenged, her glare turned to Scott now. "And what reason is that, Scott?"

Scott looked alarmed. "I—I just meant, because you're a woman, and you've been oppressed by men..."

"Is that what you meant?" Lydia asked. If her eyes had shot flames out of them at that moment, Stiles would not have been entirely surprised. "Or did you really mean that I've been driven crazy by men? Or, a man, I should say?"

"Lydia, I swear I didn't—"

"I'll have you know that being supernaturally possessed by a psycho killer werewolf is not the same thing as being driven crazy by wallpaper!"

"The wallpaper is actually a symbol," Stiles interjected. Three heads swerved to look at him, and he shrugged. "What?"

Stiles except her to start yelling, but instead Lydia took a deep breath, and folded her hands on the table. "I think we've all had enough group work for today," She said. "Lets finish up separately, and meet up again some other time, when we're all a little less anxious," She stood up, and showed them to the door.

"So what the hell was all that about?" Scott asked as they walked back to Stiles' car.

Stiles shook his head. "I don't know, I just lost it or something..."

Scott glanced back towards the house, frowning. "Yeah," He said. "I guess so,"

Later in the evening, Stiles lay on his bed turning his cellphone over in his hands. He thought about the way he'd acted at Lydia's, how angry he'd gotten and the stupid things he'd said, and he felt like an asshole. A childish, jealous asshole. Jackson was not his property, not something that Stiles had a right to exercise control over. He was not even Stiles' boyfriend. If Jackson wanted to flirt with Lydia, that was his choice and he was free to do so. Stiles knew that, knew it with the logical part of himself that could look at the situation with clear-headed distance.

And maybe if the other far less logical parts of himself did not scream so loudly, he could have believed it, too.

Stiles was a mess. He did not want to be this possessive, jealous person that he seemed to become wherever Jackson was involved. No one deserved to have such a person in their life, someone who monitored their every move and read into each little thing they did. Moreover, Stiles trusted Jackson when he said he would not get back together with Lydia. There was no reason for Jackson to lie to him, to pretend he would not do something he intended to do. So why wasn't that enough for him? It should have been.

He needed to make this right, and he needed to do better. He would not let himself be that person.

Stiles sat up and took a deep breath, opened his phone to his contacts list and clicked Jackson's number. It rang once, and then Jackson answered. "Hey," He said.

"Are you still with Lydia?" Stiles asked, keeping his voice low.

"No," Jackson said. "I wouldn't have answered if I was,"

"Oh, okay..."

"Why are you calling?" Jackson asked. "You never call..."

"I just... I wanted to say I was sorry, for the way I acted today," Stiles said, running his fingers through his hair. "I was being an ass, and getting all worked up over nothing and it was really shitty of me. So, I'm sorry,"

"That's okay," Jackson said. Stiles raised his eyebrows in surprise. He'd have thought Jackson would be more pissed than that. "I'm sorry too, I guess. I shouldn't have... I didn't mean to flirt with Lydia. Especially after I promised you there was nothing between us, flirting with her in front of you like that... it wasn't right..."

"Well, I still didn't have a right to act like I acted," Stiles said. "You don't owe me anything, Jackson. I can't keep acting like you do,"

"I guess..." Jackson said slowly. He paused for a moment. "Stiles, can I ask you something? I was going to wait until I saw you tomorrow, at the Arcade, but since you called..."

"Yeah, sure. What is it?"

"Well, how do you feel about breaking rule five?" Jackson asked.

Stiles smiled slightly. "I feel good about it. What'd you have in mind?"

"My house, this weekend. My parents are going away, so I thought you could come over... spend the night. You don't have to stay the entire weekend, if that's too much for you, but you can if you want,"

A full smile had spread across Stiles' face now. "That sounds awesome," He said.

"Really?"

"Yeah, of course. You think I'd turn down the chance to spend the weekend with you?"

"I don't know... I thought the whole weekend might be a little much," Jackson said. "You might get sick of me,"

Stiles laughed. "You know, somehow I don't see that happening," He said.

"Okay, great... so, I'll see you tomorrow, I guess?"

"Actually, I think I'll skip the Arcade tomorrow," Stiles said. "I'm kind of sick of you,"

Jackson snorted. "You're such an asshole, Stiles," He said.

"Sorry, you're cute when you're insecure,"

"I'm hanging up on you now, goodbye," Jackson muttered.

Stiles grinned. "See you tomorrow," He said.

They hung up, and Stiles lay back on his bed. The smile remained on his face.


	8. All-Nighter

"You're so sweet,  
But I like it rough."  
—New Politics, Harlem  
  
*** **  
**

Stiles went over to Jackson's house early on Saturday morning, wanting to make the most of the time they had together in an actual house, with a real bed and walls not made of concrete, bearing mysterious and frankly questionable stains on them.

They went up to Jackson's bedroom, which Stiles had never seen before. The room was neat and tidy, and had an oddly adult feel to it. There were no posters on the wall, no stacks of CD's piled up in corners, nothing you'd typically see in the room of someone below 25. There was, however, a nice looking queen size bed and an en suite bathroom and after all, these were the things that really mattered.

He dropped his backpack at the foot of the bed, still looking around the room. Jackson stood in the doorframe, watching him. "Looking for something in particular?" He asked.

Stiles shook his head. "Just getting a sense for where you live," He said.

There was a desk in the room, with a Mac desktop sitting on top of it. Beside the desk, on the floor, Stiles noticed a box with something pink and lacy sticking out of it. Curious, he knelt down and picked up the box, ignoring Jackson's vague noises of protest. "What's this?" He asked, pulling the lid off. Inside the box were several items of girls clothing. Stiles looked at Jackson with an eyebrow raised.

"They're Lydia's," Jackson explained. "It's stuff she left here while we were together,"

"Jackson, there's like two full outfits here," Stiles said, digging through the box. "How the hell did she leave here without her clothes?"

"She always had stuff to change into when she stayed over, I don't know," Jackson said. "And she didn't leave it all at once, it was over a long period of time, you know? A top here, a skirt there..."

Stiles picked up a small piece of lacy fabric, turning it over in his hands for a moment before he realized it was a pair of panties. He dropped them with a yelp, and Jackson smirked. "And those," He added. "Don't worry, I washed everything in there. I keep meaning to give it all back to her, I just... there never seems to be a good time. I can't see her taking it well..."

"Yeah, me neither..." Stiles said, only half listening to Jackson. He glanced at the box of clothing, and then at Jackson, an idea forming in his mind. "I've got a question for you, Jackson," He said, licking his lips. "How do you feel about cross-dressing?"

Jackson furrowed his brow for a moment, and Stiles saw him glance at the box of clothes for a second. "I... what?" He said. Stiles repeated his question, and Jackson's face flushed slightly. "I don't know, why?"

"You know why," Stiles said, smirking slightly.

Again, Jackson's eyes went to the box of clothes, and then back to Stiles. "I don't... they're Lydia's clothes," He said, avoiding giving an actual answer.

Stiles stepped towards him, and took Jackson's hand in his, rubbing it with his thumb. "Lydia has lots of clothes," He said. "She won't miss a few of these," He raised his eyebrows. "If you don't want to, then we won't. Simple as that," He pressed a small kiss on the corner of Jackson's mouth, then leaned back and looked him over. Jackson's eyes were on the floor, and his cheeks were florid. Stiles knew Jackson well enough at this point to know what that meant, and he smiled. "So do you not want to... or do you want me to make you?"

Jackson looked up at him from under his eyelashes. "I want you to make me," He said, pulling Stiles towards him and kissing him roughly. Stiles could feel Jackson's hunger, and it matched his own.

It was with great difficulty that he pushed Jackson back, trying to collect himself. "Take off your clothes," He said, forcing himself to sound cool. Jackson hurriedly began to unbutton his shirt, but Stiles stopped him. "No, do it slowly," He instructed.

Jackson's fingers slowed on the buttons, and he began to pop them open at an easier pace. He pulled the shirt off his shoulders, revealing a white muscle shirt underneath. This he shed slowly as well, lifting it up from the hem and pulling it over his head. Stiles eyes ran over Jackson's body as he did, appraising the way his muscles moved as he lost his clothes and feeling a heat stir in his chest. No matter how many times he had Jackson, and no matter what they did together, he never stopped wanting him with the same ferocity he always felt.

Jackson removed his socks, unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down to his ankles. He kicked them aside, and then looked up at Stiles as he always did, pausing before he got to his underwear. Stiles nodded, and with a reddened face Jackson lost his underwear as well, exposing himself. Stiles smiled slightly when he saw how hard Jackson had already become.

Reaching in to the box behind him, Stiles pulled out the lacy pink underwear and tossed them to Jackson. "Go on," He said.

Holding the underwear in front of him, Jackson looked skeptical. "These aren't going to fit," He said.

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "I said put them on,"

Sighing, Jackson did as instructed. He pulled the panties up, doing his best to tuck himself into them. He was right, they did not really fit, but they did cover more of Jackson than Stiles had thought they would. Stiles could not have explained it, but there was something incredibly enticing about the way Jackson looked in the lacy underwear, something that made it near impossible not to pull him forwards, rip the panties off and fuck him raw.

But not yet, Stiles told himself. Soon, but not yet.

Forcing himself to focus, he grabbed a pair of white thigh-high stockings from the box, and tossed them over to Jackson as well. Jackson didn't question him this time, and simply began the task of pulling them on. He had to sit down on the bed for this, lifting up his leg as he slowly rolled the stocking up his leg. It would only go to about mid-thigh, but that was fine.

After the stockings were on, Stiles handed Jackson a skirt and blouse. Jackson sighed, taking them. "Come on, seriously?"

"Oh, I am so serious right now," Stiles said. "Put 'em on now, Jackson,"

Face ecstatically red now, Jackson kept his eyes on the ground as he slipped on the skirt and zipped it up. It didn't fit quite right, sitting up much to high on his stomach, where as Stiles assumed it was meant to fall more around the hips. It made the skirt much shorter than it should have been, the hem of it just brushing the tops of Jackson's thighs. Stiles could see his jaw tighten as he put the blouse on, hands shaking slightly as he did up the buttons. When he was done, he let his hands fall by his side.

Stiles could not help but smile. Jackson actually looked sort of sweet, all girled up. "You look very pretty, Jackson," He said.

Jackson's head snapped up, and he flashed a blue-eyed glare at Stiles. "Fuck you," He spat, trying and failing to seem tough.

Stiles raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I like that tone of voice," He said, his own voice soft. "I think someone needs to be taught a lesson," He folded his arms across his chest, and Jackson glowered. "Get on the bed, on your hands and knees,"

Jackson looked at him for a moment before doing as he was told, crawling on to the bed. As he did, Stiles had a perfect view of his pink panties clad ass. Stiles stood there for a moment, enjoying the view, before walking over and reaching his hand inside the skirt, running it over Jackson's backside. "I didn't like the way you just spoke to me Jackson," He said. He took a knee on the bed behind him, getting into a good position for what he was going to do. "So when I do this, I don't want you to make a sound, understood? Nod if you do,"

Jackson nodded. Stiles paused, and then added. "Except if you have to use the safe word, obviously, that's 100% fine," Another nod from Jackson. "Good,"

Stiles pushed the skirt up slightly, and pulled the panties to one side, exposing Jackson further to him. His other hand he ran up the inside of Jackson's thigh, feeling him tense as his fingers briefly met his now painfully hard cock. He leaned in to the crease of Jackson's tempting ass and let his breath play over him for a moment, building the anticipation.

Though he'd told him to make no sound, the moment Stiles mouth pressed against him, Jackson let out a shocked gasp. Stiles thought of scolding him, but if he was being honest with himself, he really liked the noises Jackson made. Punishment or no, he wanted to hear him.

This was not something they'd ever done before, although they'd certainly talked about it enough. Both had admitted that rimming was something they were curious about, curious to try and curious to feel. And now seemed like as good a time as any to put all that talk into action.

To his credit, Jackson did seemed to be making an effort to keep quiet, even as Stiles' tongue circled him, and his hand reached around to slowly jerk him off. Jackson arched his back, and small noises escaped from his throat as Stiles licked into him.

He smoothed his hand over Jackson's thigh while his other hand worked gently between his legs. He moved his hand at an easy pace that he knew would not send Jackson over the edge. It was not time for Jackson to come yet, and he when he did Stiles wanted it to be the succour of his mouth that broke him.

As Stiles pushed his tongue in deeper, Jackson cried out and grabbed his headboard with one hand, grasping it for support. "S-Stiles," He sputtered, abandoning his resolve. "Oh god, Stiles please—"

"Shh," Stiles whispered against him. He pulled away slightly, kissing and nipping at Jackson's ass until Jackson began to whimper and whine, desperate for more. "Are you sorry for speaking up to me?" He asked quietly. Jackson whimpered loudly and nodded in response. Stiles ceased the handjob, and instead grabbed Jackson's hips with both hands, squeezing his fingers into his sides. "Tell me how sorry you are,"

"Sorry, so fucking sorry," Jackson groaned. "Please, Stiles, please! I'll never—never do it again, I swear, just please keep going, I can't—"

A smile played across Stiles' lips, and he resumed the presses of his tongue, pulling Jackson towards him by his hips as he trust his tongue inside of him, deeper and more insistent than before. With Stiles' hand no longer touching him, Jackson began to feverishly jerk himself off, dropping his head and still grasping at the headboard to keep himself up.

As Stiles continued to fuck Jackson with his tongue, he could sense Jackson reaching his limit. Jackson's body tensed and he began to sputter as the orgasm washed over him and he came over his own hand, come dripping down onto his bedsheets. Stiles slowed his movements, giving Jackson a few last gentle licks before pulling back and wiping his mouth.

"I'll be right back, okay?" Stiles asked quietly, running his hand along Jackson's back. Jackson feebly nodded his head, and Stiles made for the bathroom, grabbing his backpack on the way. He gave his teeth and tongue a quick brush, grabbed a towel and headed back out.

Jackson was lying down on the bed now, and he'd removed the blouse and skirt and tossed them away. Clad now in only the lacy pink undies and white thigh-highs, he lay prone on his back with one arm thrown over his eyes, obviously exhausted.

"Did I tell you to undress?" Stiles chided as he cleaned up the mess on Jackson's comforter, and on Jackson. Jackson made a sort of moaning noise in response, and Stiles sighed.

Peaking out from under his arm, Jackson frowned. "You," He said. "Are wearing too much clothing right now,"  
  
Stiles smiled, and ran a finger down Jackson's bare chest, stopping when he got to the edge of his underwear. "You should probably do something to fix that then," He said.

  
***

Hours and hours later, after a bit of cleaning up they collapsed together on Jackson's bed, hearts pounding and skin thoroughly soaked in sweat. Stiles felt as if each of his limbs had been filled with lead, making them impossibly heavy to lift. Even just to pull the warm covers around them both and take Jackson's in his arms was a trial. It seemed unfair to him that while Jackson seemed tired, he didn't seem to be nearly as half-dead as Stiles felt. Stupid werewolf stamina.

Not that Stiles actually had it in him to be mad at Jackson, as he lay against Stiles' shoulder with his eyes closed and arms wrapped firmly around his waist. His face was flushed, his hair matted and sweaty and his lips had been bitten red, and as Stiles stared at him he realized with an almost sickening drop that he loved him. It was a terrible, dirty thought and Stiles shook his head, as if attempting to shake it away. But once realized, the idea persisted. He was in love with Jackson, in love with every part of him, even—and possibly especially—in love with the parts of him that drove him up the wall.

What would Jackson say, if he knew that Stiles felt that way? Stiles was almost sure he didn't feel the same way. And even if he had, he would have never admitted it. Jackson's relationship with the concept of love was strained and difficult, something he and Stiles had talked over a few times. To love someone meant you had given them the power to ruin you, in Jackson's mind. It made you weak and it made you vulnerable, and those were two things that Jackson wanted desperately not to be. He wanted to be strong, so much stronger than he felt he was. He would never give in to love, Stiles knew.

Perhaps if he was lucky, one day Jackson would be able to accept his love, even if he could not return it. The thought made him feel strangely alone. But he supposed that a half-love was better than no love at all.

Stiles felt Jackson run his fingers over his cheek, and he pulled himself away from his thoughts. "What are you thinking about?" Jackson asked quietly.

Stiles smiled. "How amazing you are," He replied. It was not entirely a lie. Leaning in and kissing Jackson on the mouth, he whispered "Every time we're together, you just get more and more amazing. How is that?"

Jackson just shrugged, and smiled slightly. Stiles kissed his forehead and pulled him closer, running his fingers through Jackson's hair.

"I'm serious though, you know?" Stiles continued. "And I'm not just talking about the sex—although that is, of course, also amazing," He said. "I mean... you. You're amazing. I'm amazed, totally amazed by you. Not just amazed, even. I'm several-mazed by you. Trillion-mazed. Over-mazed. I'm lost in a maze, and the maze is made of maize, the corn kind and—"

"Oh my god, stop," Jackson said, laughing. "Your ability to make sense gave up two sentences ago,"

Stiles shrugged, and busied himself with kissing along Jackson's neck and jaw. "Always thought that ability was super over-rated," He mumbled. "Besides, s'your fault,"

"Mmm, and how's that?"

Stiles pulled back and looked Jackson in the eye. "You make me not make sense," He said simply. "You turn my brain upside, and I can't be held responsible for what comes out of my mouth in this state,"

Jackson reached up, and placed a hand against Stiles' face, running his thumb softly over his lower lip. "I guess the things coming out of your mouth aren't so bad," He said. Stiles smiled, put his hand over Jackson's and kissed his thumb.

"Can I get you anything?" Stiles asked, pulling Jackson's hand away and kissing his knuckles. They'd done this sort of thing enough times that Stiles knew that all Jackson ever wanted after they were together was to be held and praised (although he never said no to a warm blanket or sweater), but he often double checked anyways. "Are you hungry? I think I'm kind of starving..."

Jackson nodded, and sat up in the bed. "Yeah, me too," He said. "We kind of skipped over lunch today,"

"Did we?" Stiles said, sitting up as well. "Wait, what time is it?" He grabbed Jackson's alarm clock and turned it towards him. "Holy crap, it's past seven already?" He looked at Jackson, who appeared amused. "Wasn't it just noon, like two minutes ago?"

"Try several hours ago," Jackson said, eyebrows raised. "You didn't notice how dark it's gotten? That typically doesn't happen at noon,"

"Christ, no wonder I'm so hungry," Stiles said, flopping back down on the bed. "I need my three squares a day, dude. I just need 'em,"

Jackson laughed, and shook his head. "Why don't we order something in?" He suggested. "Chinese maybe,"

"Oh my god, yes," Stiles said, sitting back up. "I need Chinese food, right now. Holy crap,"

Wrapping a sheet around his waist, Stiles stood up and dug around in his jeans for his cellphone. He pulled it out and began looking up a nearby Chinese food restaurant that would deliver. After pulling up a menu, he and Jackson noted what they wanted to order, which was more or less everything. Stiles ordered the food, and when it arrived Jackson threw on a robe and went to the door to get it.

Jackson brought the three bags of food up to his room and plunked them down on his bed, and he and Stiles began to dig through them, pulling out what they wanted and eating right out of the containers. "Oh god, this is so good," Stiles moaned, slurping back some noodles. "Food, yes,"

Jackson just chuckled, and popping half a dumpling into his mouth.

"Hey, I almost forgot," Stiles said, setting down the container of noodles. "I brought something for us to do, after we eat," He got up from the bed and stumbled over to where his backpack lay.

Jackson leaned back against his headboard, watching Stiles search through his bag. "Alright, but if it's something that's supposed to go up my ass, we still need to wait like a half hour before I can go again..."

Finding what he was looking for, Stiles triumphantly pulled a large blu-ray boxset out and held it up for Jackson to see.

Jackson appeared skeptical. "I don't think that's going to fit, Stiles,"

Stiles glowered at him, holding the boxset close to his chest as if protecting it from Jackson. "It's Star Wars," He said. "The original trilogy. I thought we could watch it together, since you haven't seen it,"

Jackson sighed. "Fine, put it in," He said. Stiles frowned, glancing from the boxset to Jackson and back again. "In the blu-ray player, you pervert!"

"No no no," Stiles said. "We watch after we've eaten, not during," He said, setting the boxset down on Jackson's desk. "I don't want you to be distracted by anything," Jackson groaned and rolled his eyes. "Hey, if we were watching your favourite movie ever, wouldn't you want me giving it my full attention?"

"I guess," Jackson said, picking up another Chinese food container. "But you've probably already seen Hoosiers, so..." He said. Stiles shrugged, and Jackson looked up at him in horror. "You've never seen Hoosiers?! Okay, after the first Star Wars, we're watching that,"  
  
"Deal," Stiles said, sitting back down on the bed and grabbed the box containing the crispy chicken wings. "After we eat,"

  
***

"Okay, okay I have another question," Stiles said. "No, no wake up, this one's important," He gave Jackson a small nudge, and Jackson groaned.

"M'awake," Jackson mumbled. "M'just closing m'eyes,"

It was nearing five o'clock in the morning, and they had finished off the first two Star Wars movies, as well as Hoosiers. Now they lay in bed together, talking over the movies and any other random subject that came to mind. Jackson was dozing slightly, his head resting against Stiles' shoulder. "Alright, if I died—" He began, causing Jackson to groan again. "And you had some way of resurrecting me, but you knew it was possible there would be terrible side effects, would you do it?"

Jackson breathed out through his nose. "I lied, m'sleeping. Go away," He said. Stiles poked him a few times, and Jackson swatted angrily at him before sighing and opening his eyes. "Fine. No, I wouldn't do it," He said. Stiles pouted, and a made noise to express his hurt. "Sorry, but if there was the possibility of terrible side effects, it's not worth. It would be a selfish move, I'd be bringing you back for me, because I wanted you back, and ignoring the possibility that you could be in pain or something,"

Stiles nodded. "Okay, I guess that makes sense. So, what if you could bring me back, and you knew there would be no terrible side effects, but someone else somewhere in the world would die? Would you do it then?"

Jackson rubbed his eyes tiredly. "Where do you even come up with this stuff?" He asked. Stiles shrugged. "A while back, I would have taken that deal, yeah," He said. "But now, after everything that happened with Matt... I couldn't do it," He said quietly. He looked up at Stiles. "People shouldn't get to decide who lives and who dies. It's not up to us to pick and choose like that,"

Stiles brushed his fingers along Jackson's cheek, leaned in and kissed him softly. "Jesus, Jackson. You're getting all philosophical on me, and all I'm trying to do is be your zombie boyfriend," He paused, sucking in his breath as he realized his mistake. "I didn't—not boyfriend, that's not what I—"

Jackson kissed him, running his fingers up through Stiles' hair. "It's okay, I know what you mean," He said quietly.

They kissed gently for a few moments, and then Jackson lay his head back down against Stiles' shoulder. After a couple of minutes passed, Stiles thought he'd fallen asleep, and was about to close his eyes as well when Jackson quietly said "I could be your zombie boyfriend, Stiles," Stiles wasn't sure what to say. He looked at Jackson and swallowed. Jackson smiled. "Your heart is beating really fast," He said, closing his eyes again. "Let's go to sleep,"

Jackson was asleep in minutes, but Stiles stayed up for a little, watching him. There was a nameless feeling in chest, something indescribable that he'd often felt when spending time with Jackson. The feeling that whispered that maybe things were not so bad as he often thought they were, that maybe things would be okay. And it whispered to him now, whispered that perhaps being in love with Jackson was not such a terrible thing after all.

***

When Monday rolled around, Jackson could not have been in a better mood. Stiles had stayed until late into the evening Sunday, and the entire weekend had been like something out of an incredible, wild dream. Nothing could have brought him down, not a single thing.

Or so he thought.

At lunch he went to the library, to meet up with his English group. The anticipation of seeing Stiles made him feel slightly giddy, even though he knew he would have to ignore him. Still, Stiles would be there, and if he was careful he would be able to sneak glances at him when no one was looking. That would be enough for now.

Scott was already at a table when he walked in, and not even that could upset him. He took a seat next to McCall, and actually smiled at him. However, it felt a little weird, and he decided not to do it ever again.

"Hey, Jackson," Scott said, returning the smile. "You look like you're in a good mood. Did you have a good weekend?"

Jackson nodded. "I did, actually," He said.

Scott grinned, a goofy sort of smile that sort of bugged Jackson. He leaned in slightly, as if to whisper a secret. "I'm really happy for you, Jackson," He said.

Something cold ran down Jackson's spine, and the smile slipped off his face. "What?"

"I mean, for you and Stiles..." He said, and obliterating Jackson's good mood as if he'd struck it with a hammer. "I know it's supposed to be a secret, and I swear I won't tell anyone, I just thought you should know that I think it's great. You guys are really—"

But Jackson wasn't listening anymore. Moving as if in a daze, he gathered up his things and walked away, not hearing McCall calling after him, not hearing anything around him as he stumbled out of the library.

He felt ill, as if he might throw up. Stiles had told Scott, told the one person he'd begged him not to. He'd made him promise... Stiles had promised.

Shaking his head, Jackson tried to get a grip on himself. Obviously, Stiles' promises meant nothing. Fine, that was fine (no, no it wasn't. None of this was fine, not at all...)

But if Stiles didn't have to honour his promises, then neither did Jackson.


	9. Broken Promises

"There can be no deep disappointment  
Where there is not deep love."  
—Martin Luther King, Jr.  
  
***

It was Monday, it was a little past 4:00 PM and Stiles was worried about Jackson. He seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth.

They were supposed to have met up at lunch in the library, in order to work on their English project, but Jackson had never shown up. Or, according to Scott, he had shown up but had left abruptly and with no explanation. After that, no one had seen him. He wasn't answering any of Stiles' calls or texts, and Stiles was beginning to panic. He'd even gone to his house after school to make sure he was alright, but no one had been home.

Now he sat at his desk, clicking around on the internet but not really doing anything. Had something happened? Was he alright? Stiles hated not knowing.

Running out of ideas, Stiles sent a text to Erica, asking if she knew where Jackson was. The reply that came back a few moments later simply said that she did not.

Stiles could not stop his mind from racing around, conjuring up awful possibilities to explain Jackson's disappearance. Everything ranging from a death in his family, to some new terrible threat appearing in town and kidnapping him zipped through his mind, each possibility more awful than the last.

He wanted to call everyone Jackson knew. He wanted to phone Lydia and Danny and every single member of the lacrosse team. He wanted to call his house and talk to his parents, wanted to do everything he could to get answers. What stopped him was knowing that Jackson would kill him if he did so, hate him for clueing anyone in on the relationship they had together.

So he sat alone in his room and did nothing, telling himself that in all likelihood, Jackson was fine. He was a werewolf, after all. He was strong, and he had trained with Derek and Scott and the rest of the pack all summer long to get stronger. Jackson did not consider himself tough or capable, but Stiles knew he was.

He would just have to trust that he was alright.

On Tuesday morning Stiles headed to school early, hoping to find Jackson before class and talk to him. They were doing a project together in English, he could pretend he needed to ask him something about that. Technically it was breaking the rules, but Stiles was worried and Jackson would just need to deal with it.

He downed his breakfast quickly and then sped to school, doing a terrible job parking his jeep. As he made his way through the parking lot, he spotted Allison walking towards him, smiling in greeting. He did his best to plaster a returning smile on his face, although he was not sure it worked. He liked Allison, and any other time he would have been happy to talk to her... but not right now.

"Hey, Stiles," She said, giving him a small wave. "Good Morning,"

"Morning," He said, begrudgingly slowing his pace to match hers.

"You're here early," Allison commented, as they walked into the school together. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh, yeah," Stiles said, forcing a laugh. "Just a fluke, it happens sometimes..." Looking around the hallway, Stiles searched for some sign of Jackson. Down at the end of the hallway he spotted him, and he was just about to tell Allison he had to go when something made him stop in his tracks.

Allison peered down the hallway, obviously looking after what had made Stiles stop walking. "Oh, yeah, that happened last night," She said, as they both watched Jackson walk down the hallway, hand in hand with Lydia. "Honestly I'm surprised it took them this long to get back together,"

Stiles' throat felt dry. Jackson was back with Lydia? How? Why? It made no sense. Jackson had promised him he wouldn't... and then with everything that had happened on the weekend—it didn't make sense.

"Are you alright?" Allison asked, surveying Stiles. Stiles opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out. "I thought you were over Lydia?"

Swallowing, Stiles made himself look away from the couple. "Yeah... I am, I just... I don't know, residual feelings, I guess," Allison nodding sympathetically, and put a hand on his shoulder. Stiles felt like he was going to pass out.

Why had this happened? Stiles needed to find out what had gone wrong, what had occurred to make Jackson change his mind like this... he needed to talk to him, needed to understand.

"I'll see you later," Stiles said to Allison. "I've got to talk to them about..." He trailed off, not bothering to finish his sentence as he'd already walked away from Allison, heading towards Jackson and Lydia.

"Hey, guys, wait up," He called after them. Part of him expected them to keep walking, act like he didn't exist or something. But Jackson and Lydia stopped when he called after them, and turned around. "Hey..." He repeated, not entirely sure what the follow with.

"Hi, Stiles," Lydia greeted. She looked happy, holding hands with the person who was once again her boyfriend. Stiles wondered how she'd feel if he knew that just two days ago he'd fucked Jackson in her clothing. "What's up?"

Looking at Jackson, Stiles once again felt like he could not speak. Jackson was not avoiding looking at him, was not ignoring him or pretending he wasn't there. Instead he was looking directly at him, with a blankness in his eyes that pierced Stiles' chest like a knife. There was nothing in his gaze that suggested he even knew who Stiles was, let alone had any feelings for him. It was if he was looking right through him.

"I... the project..." Stiles found himself muttering. He looked down at his shoes, unable to take Jacksons cold, impersonal gaze any longer.

"Oh, yeah, Jackson's sorry but he wasn't feeling so great yesterday," Lydia said, giving Jackson's hand a squeeze. "We're going to meet up again tomorrow at lunch, and finish things up then. Is that okay?"

Stiles nodded numbly. "Yeah, s'fine..."

Lydia tilted her head to the side, frowning. "Are you alright?" She asked. "You look a little ill..." Shrugging, Stiles tried to come up with some excuse, but wound up saying nothing. "Well, we'll see you later then, alright?"

Stiles nodded again, mumbled some reply and walked off down the hallway, feeling more lost and confused than ever.

***

At lunch Stiles sat with Scott on the bleachers, watching the girls soccer team practice, something he'd used to enjoy. Now they could have been playing naked, and he would not even have noticed. Stiles picked at his sandwich, not feeling hungry. Honestly, he wasn't feeling much of anything at all. A sort of numbness had come over him, a daze in which nothing seemed real. Was he real? Was any of this real? Who could say.

"Stiles..." Scott said, giving him a small shake. "I gotta tell you something, dude," Stiles looked up at him blankly, and saw Scott was cringing. "And when I do, I want you to remember that there are people around, and if you murder me you will go to jail,"

"Okay," Stiles said.

Scott paused for a moment, apparently readying himself. "I know about Jackson," He said.

Stiles' brow furrowed slightly. That was not what he had been expecting Scott to say. "What? How?"

"Last week, at Lydia's... she and Jackson kept flirting with each other, and you were getting really jealous," Scott explained. "I kind of put it together," He cringed again. "I also may have mentioned that I knew to Jackson and... I don't think he took it well,"

"You... what?" Stiles asked. "You told him?" The numbness he'd been feeling faded suddenly, replaced by feelings of anger and panic. Suddenly things were starting to make sense. Jackson must have though he'd told Scott, and was angry with him for breaking his promise. Was getting back with Lydia revenge? It must have been. "Why the hell would you do that, Scott?"

"I don't know, I thought—he seemed happy, I just wanted him to know I was happy for him, and you," Scott said, shrinking slightly. "I mean, you said he was weird about people knowing, I thought if he knew that I knew, and I didn't care, or I thought it was good... I thought it might help?"

Stiles shook his head. "It did the opposite of help, Scott!" He fumed. "Fuck!"

"Stiles, I'm sorry, I didn't think—"

"No, you didn't fucking think!" He shouted. Scott looked hurt, and suddenly Stiles felt terrible. "No, I'm—shit, I'm sorry. It's not your fault, you had no idea what telling him would do..." He ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated. "It's just, everything's all fucked up now and I don't know what to do but... but you didn't mean to do anything, and I shouldn't take it out on you,"

"I'm really sorry, Stiles," Scott said again.

"I know... it's okay," Stiles told him.

It was anything but.

For the rest of the week, Jackson ignored Stiles. He didn't answer his calls or his texts and he brushed him off when he tried to speak to him in person. Every day after school Stiles waited for him at the Arcade, hoping that he would arrive and want to talk, and every day Stiles wound up leaving on his own. Obviously whatever they had between them was, at least in Jackson's mind, over.

Stiles did not know what to do. He wanted to cry and scream and break things, wanted to curl up in a ball in his bed and never leave again. He wanted to push everyone away, tell everyone to go fuck themselves and to leave him alone forever.

He did none of these things. Instead he went to school, he did his homework, he played video games. But he was numb.

If he could only talk to Jackson, he could explain that he had not betrayed him. Scott had figured it out on his own, Stiles had not broken his promise. If he would only listen, Stiles could explain... but Jackson would not, and Stiles could not make him.

On Friday they had a game of lacrosse against North Beacon Heights, and Stiles was put on the bench. He'd played terribly in their last few practices, and Coach did not want them ruining the winning streak they'd been on. Stiles thought it was unlikely that he could, considering that they had three werewolves on the team, who could run faster and react more quickly than any other player. But of course, Coach didn't know this, and so Stiles was out until he "got his head together."

Sitting on the bench, listening to the crowd cheer behind him and watching the game go on without him, Stiles felt incredibly bitter. Trying to make himself feel better, Stiles began to shout insults at the North Beacon players, calling them pansies and loudly questioning how the hell they'd ever made first string. At one point, after a string of particularly nasty insults, a player tossed his helmet to the ground and stormed towards Stiles, likely with the intention of murdering him.

Stiles stood up as the player, number 12, came towards him. "Aww, did I hurt you feelings?" Stiles shouted, knowing he was about to get his ass kicked. "Come on, suck it up you lousy pile of fecal matter!"

Just before number 12 reached him, Scott darted in front of him, pushing the player back. "Come on, man, just ignore him," He said. "He's just having a rough day,"

"His day is about to get a whole lot rougher if he doesn't shut the hell up," Spat number 12, trying and failing to push Scott away. Behind him, Stiles stuck up his middle finger and did a small dance. He could see the players face contort in anger and frustration, and for the first time all week, he actually felt a little better.

Scott and number 12 struggled for a minute, Scott holding the much larger player in place and 12 desperately trying to get him off. Finally he gave up and sulked back to the field, ignoring Stiles' increasingly rude remarks for the rest of the game.

"What the hell, Stiles?" Scott asked after the game was finished (North Beacon had suffered a rather embarrassing defeat, which Stiles had been all too happy to rub in the other players faces). "What was that?"

"Just blowing off some steam," Stiles said, changing out of uniform and back into his normal clothes.

Scott shook his head. "He looked like he wanted to kill you,"

Stiles shrugged. "What a tragedy that would have been, right?" He grinned.

Scott was not amused. "Do you want to hang out tonight?" He asked. "We can order some pizza, play some video games, watch a movie. Whatever you want,"

"I thought we were going to the after party?" Stiles asked, closing his locker and shrugging on his backpack. "You told Allison this morning that you'd meet her there, remember?"

"Yeah, but we don't have to go to that. I'm fine with doing whatever, really,"

"Why wouldn't we go?"

"Because..." Scott looked around, and lowered his voice. "Because it's at Lydia's? Because they'll be there...?"

Stiles laughed a loud, obviously fake laugh. "Please, I'm so over that," He said. Scott did not look convinced. "We can go, you can hang out and be gross with Allison, I'll be fine," He clapped Scott on the shoulder, and headed out of the locker room. "You worry too much, dude,"

***

When they arrived at the party, Lydia's house was already packed with people. Apparently everyone from school had shown up, Lydia's temporary unpopularity from the previous year seemingly forgotten. While Scott looked around for Allison, Stiles made a beeline for the keg, where he would remain for most of the evening.

Whatever pain had been dulled by taunting the North Beacon players had begun to creep back, and as Stiles stood in the crowded room, watching people laugh and drink and have a good time, he couldn't stand to feel it for one more second. It was possible, perhaps, that coming to the party had been a mistake. Somewhere in the house was Jackson, and the idea of him being so close and yet so horrifically far away made Stiles chest hurt.

Stiles poured himself a beer, and vowed he would not stop drinking until he could feel his pain no more. The beer was cheap (obviously it had been supplied by someone other than Lydia) but after his third or so cup, it was actually starting to taste pretty good.

He was on his—what, fifth cup? His fifth or possibly sixth cup, when Erica and Boyd wandered over. Boyd had his arm over Erica's shoulder, and Stiles smiled at them. "You know, you two make sucha great couple," He said.

Boyd furrowed his brow. "Hello to you, too, Stiles," He said, removing his arm from Erica and busying himself with the keg.

"I'm serious, Vernon—may I call you Vernon?" Stiles asked.

"No," Boyd muttered, passing a beer to Erica before drawing one for himself.

Stiles grinned. "Vern?" Boyd glared, and shook his head. Stiles pointed a finger at him. "You guy," He said, chuckling.

Boyd looked at Erica. "May we walk away now, please?" He asked.

Erica ignored him, looking with what was possibly concern at Stiles. "Are you alright? You smell... not alright,"

Boyd made a face. "Don't smell him, Erica," He murmured. "It's weird,"

Erica rolled her eyes. "Get over it," She murmured back. She looked at Stiles. "Well?"

Stiles just laughed, and took another large gulp of beer. "M'fine," He said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "M'great, in fact. Hey, has either of you ever seen Jackson 'n' Lydia around here somewhere? Because I have not, and I thought I'd wish 'em a happy congratulations, on getting back together and everything. Because that's just so great, right?"

Erica sighed. "Right, I'd forgotten about that," She said.

"Ha!" Stiles said, although he had never felt less like laughing. "I wish I could forget! Guess coming here was a dumb move, huh?"

"Probably, yeah," Erica agreed.

Boyd looked confused. "I'm confused," He said, as apparently the way he looked was an accurate gauge of the way he was feeling. Erica put her hand on his arm, but did not clear anything up for him.

"Lemme 'splain," Stiles said, leaning forward slightly. "Jackson and I were f—"

"Friends!" Erica jumped in, speaking over Stiles. "A long time ago, they used to be friends. But then Jackson started dating Lydia and he forgot about Stiles, and Stiles resents him for that. And now that they're back together, I guess it's brought it all up again, huh Stiles?"

Stiles frowned. "None of that is true,"

Erica shot Stiles a look that suggested she would very much like to kill him. Over his shoulder, something caught her eye. "Jackson!" She called, waving him over. Stiles whipped around, staring with an open mouth as Jackson came towards them, his arm over Lydia's shoulder. "Jackson, great, you're here. Do something about Stiles, he's very chatty tonight,"

Lydia laughed. "Is that any different than usual?" She asked.

Stiles' lip curled, and he glared at Lydia. "That's rude," He said. "Jackson, are you gonna letter be rude t'me?"

Lydia looked confused, and Jackson took his arm from around her and instead grabbed Stiles. "Obviously someone has had way too much to drink," He said. "I'll take him upstairs, so he can lie down," He dragged Stiles off through the crowd before anyone else could get another word in.

Pulled by Jackson, Stiles stumbled up the stairs, spilling beer everywhere. "Hey, watch it, I need that for stuff—"

Jackson took him into Lydia's room and slammed the door behind them. "What the hell, Stiles?"

Stiles laughed, and flopped down on Lydia's bed. "'What the hell, Stiles.' That's funny. I wondered what you'd say t'me, if you ever talked to me again. 'What the hell, Stiles' was not what I imagined, I'll tell you that—" He went to take another sip of beer, but Jackson snatched it out of his hand. "Hey!"

"You were acting like an ass down there," Jackson snapped.

"You are an ass always," Stiles responded.

Jackson shook his head. "You've got some nerve, showing up here and blabbering like an idiot in front of Lydia, you know that," He crossed his arms over his chest. "I thought I made it clear that things between us were over,"

Stiles laughed. "Clear? Clear?! You think getting back with Lydia—who is a girl by the way, in case you didn't notice—and ignoring me for a week is clear? It is so much the opposite of clear, it's fucking... what that's fucking word, starts with an 'O?'" He frowned, trying to recall. "O-pack? O... o-something..."

Jackson rolled his eyes. "Opaque?" He drawled.

Stiles snapped his fingers. "Yes, that. It's fucking opaque, is what it is,"

"Fine, well I'm making it clear now," Jackson said. "We're done, okay? And I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about my temporary insanity, thanks,"

Stiles stood up. "Temporary insanity? For the last three months? I don't think so, Jackson!" He shouted. "You know what you are, is a coward. And you're stupid, and you know what I don't even know why I love you, because you're so stupid! You think I broke my promise to you, and told Scott about us? Is that what you think?"

Jackson's jaw tensed. "Yes..."

"Well I didn't, dumbass! He figured it out on his own when we were working on the stupid English project!" Stiles turned away, feeling sick to his stomach. He hated Jackson, wanted to punch him in his stupid beautiful face for hurting him like this. And at the same time, he loved him and all he wanted was to hold him and kiss him and for things to be okay. Also, he wanted to vomit.

"I need to get out of here..." Stiles muttered, pushing past Jackson who had gone oddly silent. He stormed out of the house and out into the cool night air. Walking to his car, he fiddled with his keys for a moment before it occurred to him that he was way too plastered to drive. Fine, he would walk home. Whatever.

Stiles began to walk down the street, trying to calculate how long he could go before the urge to vomit overwhelmed and he threw up on the sidewalk. He estimated he had about five more minutes.

Down the street, Stiles could see some people walking towards him and he groaned slightly. The odds of getting past them before he vomited seemed slim. This was going to be embarrassing. If he was lucky, he wouldn't remember any of it the next day.

The people got closer and closer, and with a sickening crunch Stiles realized he knew them. They were players from the North Beacon team, and his old friend player 12 was among them.

"Uh, hiya guys," Stiles greeted, as the players walked towards him. There were four of them, and all much bigger than he was. He was going to die. "Nice night for a walk, eh?"

One of the players smiled, and put a hand on 12's shoulder. "Toldya it was a good idea to crash their party," He said.

12 nodded, putting his fist in his hand and actually cracking his knuckles. "I'm going to enjoy this, you lousy pile of feces,"

"Fecal matter," Stiles corrected, before a fist came and punched him in the jaw. Pain rocketed around his head, and Stiles saw the world swim before him. He fell to the ground, and the players laughed. They began to kick him, and Stiles curled up in a ball and wished he could die.

Somewhere very far away, Stiles heard a loud growling noise and suddenly the kicking stopped. There was silence for a moment, and then the sound of screaming and running. The screams faded away, and slowly Stiles picked himself up, feeling very confused. His head was pounding, and his vision blurred, but Stiles thought he could see a face that looked an awful lot like Jackson hovering over him, asking if he was alright.

Comforted by what he was sure was some kind of hallucination, Stiles turned to the side and threw up five or six beers, and then lost consciousness.


	10. What May Come

“Oh, come forth into the storm and rout  
And be my love in the rain.”  
―Robert Frost,  _A Line-Storm Song_  
  
***

At some point during the night, Stiles had been decapitated, and his head had been replaced with a watermelon full of nails. That was the only possible explanation Stiles could think of to account for the way he was currently feeling.

Stiles groaned, sitting up in his bed and trying to recall how he'd gotten there. His memory was fuzzy; images of four neanderthals in letterman jackets and a blurry angel that looked like Jackson flickered around in his head.

“Good, you're awake,” Stiles looked up, and saw Jackson striding towards him. He took a seat on the edge of the bed near Stiles. “I was worried you hit your head too hard, and were going to slip into a coma or something,”

Stiles groaned slightly as his memories came back more clearly. Players from North Beacon Heights had been beating him up, and Jackson had chased them off. Stiles remembered Jackson asking if he was alright... right before Stiles had vomited in front of him and passed out. As well, he dimly remembered getting to Jackson's car and being taken home, and Jackson tending to his wounds and giving him some water to drink.

He put his head in his hands. “You didn't have to do this,” He muttered.

“Yeah, like I was just going to leave you on the sidewalk in a pool of vomit,” Jackson said, rolling his eyes.

“Well, you didn't have to stay. I'm fine,” He said, though he felt far from fine. His head was pounding, he felt nauseous and his mouth tasted like dried crap. His body felt bruised and sore and worse than all of it was the deep sense of shame he felt, when he recalled the way he'd acted, and the things he'd said to Jackson. “You can leave now, if you want... I'm just going to lie down and die, if that's okay...”

Jackson shook his head, picked up a glass of water from Stiles' bedside table and handed it to him. “Here, have some more. You're probably dehydrated from all the alcohol,”

Stiles took the water from him and sipped it slowly. He looked at Jackson, wondering just how pathetic he'd looked getting the crap kicked out of him. It must have been pretty bad, for Jackson to suddenly start being nice to him again. He wondered how long this would last. “Thanks for getting rid of those guys,” He said, setting the water back down. “I mean I probably deserved it, but...” He shrugged. “You could hear, I guess?”

“What?”

“I mean, you came out and got rid of the North Beacon guys. Could you hear them beating me up, or what?”

Jackson glanced away. “I saw them...” He said quietly. “I was down the street, and I saw them jump you...”

“Oh...” Stiles said quietly. “You were outside? Why...?”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “Why do you think?” He asked. Stiles shrugged. “I was coming after you, genius,”

“Oh,” Stiles said again.

Jackson looked at him, his eyes questioning. “Did you mean what you said?” He asked softly.

“No, I didn't mean it at all,” Stiles said, thinking Jackson was referring to when he'd called him a stupid coward. Jackson glanced away again, as if disappointed. “You're not a coward, Jackson, that was a shitty thing to say. And obviously you're not stupid, either... I was just drunk and angry and—”

“No, not that,” Jackson said, looking up again. “I meant the part when you said you loved me,”

“Yeah, that I meant,” Stiles said.

Jackson leaned forward and kissed him. Stiles barely had time to kiss him back before he pulled away again, putting a hand to his mouth. “Your mouth tastes like vomit,”

“Yeah, I know,” He said, cracking a smile.

Jackson laughed, and put his head in his hands. “Oh, god...” He muttered. Slowly his shoulders began to shake, and tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Hey, hey it's alright,” Stiles said, leaning forward and putting a hand on Jackson's shoulder. “I'll brush my teeth and we can try again...”

Jackson pulled his hands away and shook his head. “It's not that, I—I'm sorry, Stiles. About this week, and Lydia, I thought... I thought...”

“I know,” Stiles said quietly. “It's okay,”

“No, no it's not,” Jackson said. “I should have talked to you, instead of acting like a fucking child and trying to hurt you back. I was so angry, and stupid...”

“Jackson, it's alright, okay? We all make mistakes sometimes, it's human freakin' nature. I mean, case in point, I made a lot of mistakes tonight. I said things I didn't mean, and I acted like a piece of shit,”

“You were drunk,” Jackson said.

“Not an excuse,” Stiles replied.

Jackson licked his lips, reached forward and took Stiles' hand. “I want to fix this,” He said. “Last weekend was amazing, and I fucked it all up this week. Can we just... go back to how things were?”

Stiles bit his tongue. He wanted so badly to say yes, to say yes to anything Jackson wanted and give him the whole wide world. But he couldn't. “I don't want to go back to how things were,” He said softly.

Surprise and hurt flickered across Jackson's face, and he withdrew his hand. “Oh, okay...”

“Wait, Jackson, I don't mean—” Stiles grabbed Jackson's hand back. “I want to be with you, Jackson. That's all I want. But not like before. I'm sick of hiding, Jackson. And I'm sick of lying, and pretending we're just fucking around when we  _both_ know that's not all it is. I want to be able to call you when I feel shitty and talk about my day, I want to hang out and play video games and force each other to watch movies and television shows we never would have watched on our own. I want to be your boyfriend, Jackson, not some guy you fuck in the Arcade,”

Jackson looked away. “I... I want that too, but... I don't...” He swallowed. “You were right, when you called me a coward tonight, Stiles,” He turned his gaze back to him, shame in his eyes. “I am. I'm not ready to... for people to know about me. That I'm gay, I guess. I don't know why, but I'm just not ready,”

Stiles gave Jackson's hand a squeeze. “I'm not asking you to come out for me. I'm not even sure  _I'm_ ready to come out. It doesn't make you a coward, Jackson. Don't think that for a second, okay? I'll keep it a secret, for as long as you need to. I'm fine with that... I just... I need more than what we're doing now,”

Jackson nodded. “More sounds good,” He said. “I want it too, all those things you want. I thought I didn't, I thought.... my whole life, I've been struggling, trying to be better and do more and to prove myself, prove that I was worth something. But you make me feel like I don't need to prove anything, like what I am now... that's enough.” Jackson brushed his thumb along Stiles' hand. “So... you should probably go brush your teeth now,”

Stiles climbed out of his bed and did so, brushing quickly and furiously. The moment he was finished, Jackson pulled him towards him and gave him a hard, aching kiss that made his knees shake. Stiles wrapped his arms over his shoulders, sighing against Jackson's lips and feeling as if all week long he had been suffocating, and only now was he able to draw in air.

Between soft presses of their mouths, Jackson murmured Stiles' name, whispering it over and over as if it were something important and special. Stiles held Jackson tightly as they kissed, but not as tightly as he once would have. There was no need to cling to him now, no need to hold on for dear life and grip him with all his strength, because Stiles knew that neither of them was going anywhere.

***

Jackson broke up with Lydia the following day. Feeling that he owed her, he told her the truth of the situation. That he was gay, and had feelings for Stiles. He'd only gotten back together with her to hurt him, and he was incredibly sorry. She deserved better, so much better than he could be for her.

Recounting it later to Stiles, Jackson told him she had not taken it well. She had screamed and shouted, said terrible but not exactly untrue things, and told him she never wanted to see him again. Stiles assured him that she would forgive him one day, but Jackson was doubtful. One could only ask to be forgiven so many times.

All of their parents took the news of their relationship reasonably well, although both of their fathers were startled to find that they were dating each other. This was not surprising, considering the last time they'd seen them together a restraining order had been involved. Jackson's mother was mostly just pleased that her son had chosen to share something about his life with them, and immediately began making plans to have Stiles and his father over for dinner.

Besides Lydia and their families, the only other people that Jackson came out to were his pack. They told them together, during training one day. Only Isaac seemed surprised, as Erica had already known and after the party, Boyd had figured it out. Derek, obviously, had known that Jackson was gay and his only surprise was that he'd chosen Stiles to be his partner. He'd said very little while they were making the announcement, but later Stiles received a text from him saying that if he hurt Jackson, Derek would rip his throat out with his teeth. Stiles spent the entire week wondering how the hell Derek had gotten his phone number.

They began to spend time together at school, although they did not let on that their relationship was anything romantic. But Jackson was willing to let people know that Stiles was his friend, and it was a step in the right direction. Jackson was skeptical about spending so much time with Scott, but Stiles told him to suck it up and get over it. If he wanted to be with Stiles, he had to accept that Scott was part of the deal. That's just the way it was.

Over time, Lydia did forgive Jackson, and began to spend time with their group again. It took a little getting used to, but by the end of the year they were all hanging out together as if there had never been any drama.

After the final day before winter break, Stiles and Jackson headed back to Stiles' house to talk over their plans for the break. Up in Stiles' room, Stiles flopped down on his bed and announced that that was where he was planning on spending the entirety of the break.

“Alright, fine with me,” Jackson said, turning his backpack over on the floor and beginning to sort through the mess. “Just make sure there's room for two,”

“There's always room in my bed for you, boo,” Stiles said, grinning.

Jackson rolled his eyes. “I have asked you repeatedly not to call me that,” He mumbled, separating all of the papers and notebooks into a pile to be thrown away and a pile to be kept.

“No, you asked me not to call you sugar bear, sweetie pie and baby cakes,” Stiles said. “'Boo' was not on the list,”

“Well, it's going on the list now,” Removing himself from the pile of papers surrounding him, Jackson crawled onto Stiles' bed with him, moving slowly over him. He pressed a light kiss against the tip of Stiles' nose. “Come on, you've got your own backpack to go through, get up,”

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “First of all, you can not climb on top of me and then tell me to get up,” he said, wrapping his arms over Jackson's neck and giving him a small kiss. “Second of all, if you don't like any of the nicknames I've given you, what am I supposed to call you, huh?”

“I suggest  _'Jackson,'_ ” Jackson suggested with a grin.

Stiles pouted. “What about 'honey toes?'”

“What about  _no,_ ” Jackson nipped lightly at Stiles' lower lip, then pulled away again, ignoring Stiles' protesting groans. “Things to do, come on,”

Jackson reseated himself among his papers, and Stiles crawled over to the edge of his bed and lay down on his stomach. “I've been meaning to ask you, what should I do with that collar I bought?”

Jackson raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I can't return it since we took the tags off, but I figured I could probably pawn it or sell it on ebay or something, right? I don't know,”

Jackson put the notebook in his hand down and looked at Stiles. “Why do you need to do anything with it?”

Propping himself on his elbows, Stiles shrugged. “Why bother keeping it? We're not going to use it again after what happened, are we?”

“I wanted to try it again, yeah,”

Stiles furrowed his brow, feeling a bit like he was missing something. “But you... I thought you didn't like it? When we used it, you got all panicky and you used the safety word. Typically I find that when you're enjoying something, you tend to not use the safety word...”

“I told you, the problem was it was too tight,” Jackson said. “I couldn't breathe, and it freaked me out. If we loosen it a few notches next time, it'll be fine,” He picked up the notebook again and began leafing through it.

Stiles pursed his lips, unconvinced. “I don't know, I mean... why take the chance? If you didn't like it the first time, why try it again? Can't we just stick to things we know you like?”

“Oh, so you never want to try anything new ever again?”

“I didn't say that, I just—fine, fine, if you want to give the collar another go, then we'll give it another go, but this time we are making it super loose,”

“Mmm, sounds good,” Jackson mumbled, looking at a page in his notebook. “Look what I just found,” He turned the notebook to face Stiles. It was a list of rules, the one Jackson had made up when they'd first begun to have sex.

“You kept it?” Stiles asked, reaching out and taking the notebook from Jackson.

“At first I wanted to have it for reference, and then I forgot about it,” Jackson confessed.

Stiles smiled, going over the list. “'Rule number one, no one can know,'” He read. “Whoops, think we may have broken that one a few times,”

Jackson rolled his eyes. “I think we may have broken  _all_ of them a few dozen times,”

“Well, let's see...” Stiles scrolled down the list, reading out the rules. “'Rule two, no emotions. No feelings, and no attachment,'” He grinned at Jackson. “Whoops again,” He said. Jackson shook his head, smiling slightly. “'Rule three, no talking about it—' yeah we screwed that one up like immediately. 'Rule four, ignore each other at school.' Totally failed. 'Rule five, keep it in the Arcade,'” Stiles looked up, glancing around his room. “This does not look like the Arcade,”

“Alright, I get it,” Jackson said, snatching the notebook away from Stiles. “My rules were stupid and useless,”

“We stuck to the last one pretty well,” Stiles pointed out. “'No hickeys, Stiles only rule.' You never give me hickeys,”

“So one rule out of six wasn't broken, amazing,” Jackson muttered, tossing the notebook aside.

“Hey,” Stiles said, sliding off the bed and kneeling beside Jackson. “You made those rules to establish boundaries, and they were what you needed at the time. You moved beyond them, is all. We both did, and it doesn't mean they were stupid or useless.” He kissed Jackson's cheek, and then picked up the notebook. “Just that we don't need them anymore,”

Stiles placed the notebook in the “throw away” pile, and then took a seat next to Jackson, sliding his arm around his waist. Jackson turned his head towards him and their lips met in a soft kiss. Jackson's fingers played with the hem of Stiles' shirt as they kissed, and Stiles held him close and touched him gently.

When they pulled back, Jackson smiled slightly, mumbling about how he should probably finish what he started with the papers. He began sorting through them again, and Stiles leaned back and watched him, listening as Jackson made idle chit chat about their plans for the break.

Life, Stiles knew, would never be perfect. There would always be problems and struggles, always a battle to be overcome and a terrible evil to fight. He accepted that, but he no longer feared it, no longer felt the need to agonize over the future and worry about what was coming.

Whatever horror came his way, whether it was a demonic creature from hell or the SATs, Stiles knew that he could face it for one simple reason: he would not have to do so alone.

And that made all the difference.


End file.
